


Understanding Hunger

by MaxxR



Category: Glass (2019), Split (2016), Unbreakable (2000)
Genre: As Presented in the Movie, Blood and Gore, Body Horror, Cannibalism, Dissociative Identity Disorder, F/M, Other, Zombies, horror imagery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-25
Updated: 2019-10-19
Packaged: 2020-03-17 09:36:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 21,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18962617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaxxR/pseuds/MaxxR
Summary: It's been almost two weeks since Casey Cooke died. Almost as long since she killed her uncle and ate his brain. Now her biggest concern is slaking her ever-ravenous hunger before she loses control of herself. When a man abducts her and two classmates from the King of Prussia Mall parking lot Casey figures she's hit the jackpot, but this meal won't be as easy as she hopes.





	1. Buck Fever

 

 

 

“Excuse me, sir, I think you have the wrong car.”

 

The stranger moves fast, slipping a dust mask over his face and spraying Claire and Marcia with something that makes them pass out almost immediately. Casey freezes. She’s been prey for longer than she’s been a predator, and though her new instincts are screaming at her to fight this sudden threat she keeps still in her seat. The man hasn’t noticed her, too preoccupied with wiping down the steering wheel. She reaches for the passenger door’s handle, her fingers curl around the latch slowly.

 

She can feel her heart fluttering in her chest, pumping adrenaline through her veins. The meat of her uncle’s brain having kickstarted her pulse about a week ago. She knows it’s temporary, that very, _very_ soon her heart will slow and stop. She won’t die. Casey’s already had her death. It still hurts though, the way the blood sits in her veins, and her lungs burn in endless suffocation. It’s not the worst agony she’s ever experienced, but that doesn’t make it alright.  The hunger that follows quickly after is more terrible yet.

 

She isn’t human anymore. Casey has accepted that. Her ties to life, and to humanity had been thin since the day her father died as it is. There isn’t anyone else for her either.  No friends or mentors or long lost family members. Being dead… being a zombie, it’s changed everything and also nothing at the same time.

 

Quietly as she can Casey lets her hand drop from the door. The hunger is coming. Sooner or later she’s going to need to feed- to kill. Who better than a man who abducts teenage girls from parking lots? Casey holds as still as the corpse she is as the man starts the car. He’s too focused on the drive, his gaze steadily pointed forward in an attempt to not look suspicious.  It isn’t until they reach their destination, when he twists to unbuckle his seat belt, that he finally sees her.

 

He stills so suddenly and completely that for a moment Casey thinks he might actually be like her. But she can hear the uneven stutter of his heart in his chest, can hear the shaky exhale of his breath, can smell the sour tang of his shock. Her newly heightened senses pick up every small detail of his fear. He is alive.

 

“What do you plan to do with us at the zoo?” she asks, voice low and husky. The scent of his fear sweetens with a familiar honeyed copper taste. The perfume of a man’s sudden, anxious arousal is more known to her than practically anything else.

 

“How..?” he squeezes his eyes shut, flinching against the confusion. It’s clear from how he’d had to clean the car before he could even subdue his intended victims that he’s the kind of man to care very much about the state of whatever place he’s in. To not have noticed her must be disturbing to him.

 

“No. Look. I don’t want to have to hurt you-”

 

“I think we both know that’s not true.”

 

They hold eye contact, two predators caught in a standoff.

 

Except one of them is only  _pretending_.

 

The man squares his shoulders, places the mask back over his mouth, pulls the aerosol can from his pocket and sprays Casey in the face. Casey closes her eyes and lets her body fall limp, pretending to be knocked out. The man swears breathlessly, gasping through the dust mask. He gets out of the car, opens the back door and pulls one of the girls out. It takes him three trips to get them all inside. In spite of herself, Casey is impressed as the man carries her in. Death has made her much heavier, denser. She doesn’t really know how it happened, how it’s all meant to work biologically, but that doesn’t change the facts. He doesn’t struggle at all with her.

 

This buck is a much greater prize than John had been.

 

Casey’s teeth slick with hungry anticipation.

 

_Don’t get buck fever, now._ The shadow of her father’s voice whispers softly. She lets herself be reminded.

 

The man sets her down on a firm cot; Casey listens to him walk away. Notes the sound of a door closing, a lock tumbling into place from the other side. Casey counts to ten before she sits up to see where she’s been put.

 

The room is decently sized. There’s an adjoined bathroom. No blankets on the cots, but yellow flowers on the pillows. No closets or dressers. It seems like the amount of time the man intends to keep them will be short. Casey looks over at Claire and Marcia laid together on the second cot. They look so peaceful; they have no idea what they’re going to wake up to.

 

_They don’t have to wake up._

 

Casey lays back down (she won’t sleep, hasn’t since she changed). If she pays too much attention to them she isn’t sure she’ll be able to control her appetite. She lets herself think of the man instead. His strong, firm body and stern, handsome face.

 

_The thrill is in outsmarting the animal._

 

Casey couldn’t stand the thought of eating more of John than his brain. Not because of the obvious horror of it, but out of sheer disgust of him. She took the minimum that she needed, only as much as she could stomach. This man though, he’ll be a true feast. Casey won’t waste a single bite of him.

 

 

 

 


	2. Blow Me

 

 

When Claire and Marcia wake, one after the other, they’re obviously confused but manage not to completely freak out. They’ve huddled together, by the sound of it, to check on each other. Make sure they're okay. Casey will give them credit for that. She can’t imagine how either of them has ever had to really be afraid like this before, and she knows that someone made of lesser stuff would have broken down the moment they woke up in what is obviously a room made to hold kidnapping victims. Casey pretends to wake up, figures that if she ‘sleeps’ too long one of them might try to check on her, and she doesn’t trust herself.  

 

“We woke up in here,” Claire calls over to her, voice hushed and trembling. “What are we doing here? What happened to my Dad? Do you know what happened to my Dad?” 

 

Truthfully she doesn’t know what happened to Mr Benoit, but she doesn’t get a chance to answer either way. The sound of a door opening and firm footsteps draws her attention. Their door is quickly opened after, and the man enters their room with a folding chair in hand. 

 

Each of his movements feels like deliberately taken steps in a process. Open the door. Enter with the chair. Unfold it. Wipe seat. Fold the cloth. Put it in his pocket. Sit. Cross arms across chest. He locks his gaze with Casey’s. She holds it, quietly challenging, disrupting the process. 

 

After a moment he looks away, downward, the unconscious tilt of his head displaying submission; deference to the more confident predator. Casey is thrilled by it. After over a decade of being made to submit, to scrape and writhe, and be made low by a man she should have been able to trust, dominance is the only thing that really pleases her. 

 

The man’s gaze shifts to the others. Marcia becomes obviously aware of the length of her skirt. It’s an amateur move, Casey thinks, when she tries to pull it down. Has she never been objectified before? That can’t be the case, she’s very beautiful, she can’t have gone her whole high school career without even being catcalled or leered at. More likely her parents tried to raise her to be confident in herself and to ignore the attention so she can do what she pleased anyway. She might have been better off if they’d tried to arm her against the attention instead. Ignorance won’t make the problem go away. Now she doesn’t know what to do. Now’s she’s making a spectacle of herself, shameless in the skin she’s showing, but submissive in her posture and behaviour. Poor, pretty Marcia is like catnip for the kinds of men who will think they deserve access to her body. 

 

Casey isn’t even a little surprised when the man says to her: “I choose you first.” 

 

He gets up, sets the chair outside the door, comes back in and pulls Marcia out of Claire’s protective embrace. “This is only gonna be a minute.” 

 

Marcia struggles, of course.  A mini skirt doesn’t mean she deserves what’s going to happen on the other side of that door. She breaks free, but it’s useless. Casey takes pity on her, catches her and pulls her close. 

 

“Pee on yourself!  _ Pee _ on yourself!”  

 

The man drags her off, closing the door after them. They don’t go far. Marcia’s whimpering is audible through the door, and Claire charges it, slamming her palms against the wood refusing to accept what’s happening to her friend.  It’s barely a moment before Marcia is being carried back into the room. Every shred of the man’s composure is gone: he bellows in horrified disgust as he leaves, locking them in again. The smell of ammonia makes it clear she took Casey’s advice. 

 

“Are you okay?” Claire pulls Marcia’s hair from her face to get a better look at her. 

 

“He wanted me to dance for him.” Marcia whimpers as she stands. “The outside door is locked.” 

 

“Everything’s okay.” Claire follows her to the bathroom to help her clean up. “We’re okay...We’re okay…”

 

After a moment the shower kicks on. Claire stands guard near the bathroom door while Marcia cleans herself. It’s barely a few minutes until they emerge. Marcia’s hair is still mostly dry, but her clothes are soaking wet. Casey watches her as she pads barefoot back to the cot, puts a towel down and curls into herself. Claire follows close, limbs tense with rage. 

 

Claire is a born leader, extraverted and popular, used to feeling strong. She’s humiliated by her fear, and she all but says so. “...that was some victim shit! Jesus! We should fight him. Drop a crazy ass bomb on him!” 

 

“I saw him carry one of you in and lay you on the bed like you weighed nothing. One punch from him would knock one of you out.” 

 

It’s a good excuse, and the truth to boot. Casey hopes they’ll listen. She’s trying to be good. As hungry as she is she doesn’t actually want to hurt Claire or Marcia. The man  _ should  _ be enough. She doesn’t know what she’ll do if they try to fight him altogether. Will she keep control, or will it be a massacre? Can she resist if one of them gets hurt? It’s pretty unlikely. The best thing Claire and Marcia can do right now is just to keep their heads down. 

 

“I took six months of Kenpo karate class.” Claire continues, determined. “And you distract the assailant with pain.” 

 

“Everything is so easy for you guys. You do one thing you can predict the next thing. It’s not how it’s going to be in this situation.” They can’t predict  _ her _ . 

 

“We’re not getting out of here! You’re saying you're not going to fight with everything in you?” 

 

She doesn’t have to fight. Not anymore. But it wasn’t that long ago that she had. A different room, a different man, but still just a man overpowering a smaller girl. Expecting things. She’d felt like a rabbit caught in a snare, struggling, panicking, suffocating. Until she was dead. Claire can’t see it yet, too soft under her can-do attitude; too many movies not enough hard reality. She can’t fight this man. She needs to act smarter. 

 

“You know the only chance… the only change we have is if we all go crazy on this guy. We have to hurry!” 

 

“We need you, Casey!” Marcia takes a turn trying to convince her. She kneels beside the second cot, her slender hand press gently against Casey’s arm. “Claire’s smart let's listen to her! I’ll do it if you’re gonna do it too.” She says like the man hadn’t already ripped her from Claire and dragged her off to dance for him like she didn’t weight anything, like her struggling meant nothing. “We can win.” 

 

“He’ll hurt you.”

 

He’s gone as far as kidnapping three girls. He isn’t going to be stopped by a little pee for long. He will try again, and if they do what they’re suggesting he will hurt them. He’ll get angry, feel hurt by their rejection of his advances. He thinks he’s so entitled to them that he just  _ took  _ them. He’s committed to this. The more they anger him the less human they’ll become to him. 

 

If it comes to that Casey will have to either step in or let it happen. She doesn’t want her classmates to know what she’s become, but they’ve never done anything to her to warrant that kind of apathy either. 

 

“No. Shut up. Both of you.” 

 

“You’re going to pick your miserable self up,” Claire demands, “and help us get out of here.” 

 

“ _Blow me_. And your six months of karate at the King of Prussia Mall can blow me too.” 

 

“No! No, no you can’t do this today!” Claire says, exasperated. “You can’t do this right now! Why do you do this? Why do you act like this? Why do you act like your not one of us?” 

 

_ When you’re aiming, Casey, always keep both eyes open. _

 

Because she isn’t one of them. She never was. She was never meant to be. Even if her father had still been alive, even if her uncle hadn’t been a monster, she still wouldn’t be one of them. Casey wasn’t ever mean to be a pretty, soft thing in a fuzzy sweater. She wasn’t so arrogant as to think that she was the only girl who liked hunting, who smoked behind the school and had been stealing beers since she was fourteen. She’d always been just as dime-a-dozen as Claire and Marcia, but they _ were  _ cut from different cloths. They were not the same. They didn’t have anything of substance in common, and Claire Benoit damn well knew that. 

 

“I’ll let you know when I hear something that makes sense.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to be the sort of person who sets a regular weekly update schedule, but instant gratification gets me every time. OTL Here's another chapter! Not much of The Horde in this one, but I had a lot of fun exploring this scene with a different lens. The first part of the fic will follow Split pretty close, with obvious changes based on the AU, so a lot of the early dialogue will be taken from the movie.


	3. Priestess

 

 

 

Frustrated by Casey’s unwillingness, Claire and Marcia huddle together on the second cot to keep plotting. Casey pretends not to listen to their whispers, but there isn’t anything at all in the room to entertain them. Obviously how they spend their time between the man’s visits doesn’t matter to him. The time passes slowly. Eventually, Claire and Marcia’s hushed conversation petters off, and the three of them sit in heavy silence.

 

Casey’s thoughts quickly spiral. There’s nothing to distract her from the delicious thumping of the girls’ hearts, and with every second that passes her hunger grows. She’s up and closing herself in the bathroom before she’s even really decided to do it. She can still hear Marcia’s startled whimper through the bathroom door and the animal part of her demands that she charge back out there, pick off the weaker member of the group.  _Feed._

 

Casey turns on the tap at the sink, bends over the pristine faucet to drink metallic tasting water in heavy gulps. She doesn’t feel thirst anymore, but she hopes the heavy slosh of water in her stomach will trick her body for a little while. She keeps the man in her thoughts. Why eat a salad when she can have a steak? She can wait.

 

_ She can wait. _

 

When Casey finally leaves the bathroom, body leaden with water it doesn’t need,  she finds Claire and Marcia kneeling by the door. They’re spying through the space between the door and the wall and turn to her as she shuffles over to them.

 

“He’s back,” Claire whispers.

 

“There’s a lady outside,” Marcia says as they turn their attention back to the room beyond.

 

Casey crouches down next to them just in time to partially see a woman in a long skirt and heels walk into view. She’s pacing a few feet away as she speaks, her voice soft but firm.

 

“Dennis, admit what you’ve done.”

 

“Don’t get upset.” the man replies quietly.

 

“Don’t tell me. I’m getting frightened…”  she stops within view, her hands clasped in front of her, the gesture softly authoritative.

 

“Please tell me it’s not too late."

 

“The food is waiting,” Dennis replies.

 

“Is she in that room?”

 

Claire reaches her limit first: with a gasp, she cries through the door. “We’re here!”

 

“Help us! We’re in here!” Marcia follows suit.

 

The woman’s long skirt swishes around her ankles as she turns towards the door. “What is this? How many are there?”

 

“No, no no! Don’t go in there! Don’t go in there!” Dennis cries, but the woman isn’t deterred. She glides to the door with firm heel strikes. The girls back away as the lock tumbles open and she enters. Claire pushes Marcia behind her protectively; Casey moves to the opposite side, putting distance between them just in case. They all stumble back further at the sight of the woman.

 

“Don’t worry,” she says softly through the man’s mouth. “I’ll talk to him, he listens to me.” She looks at each of them, sparing Claire and Marcia barely more than a glance before she locks eyes with Casey. It’s the man’s face, the same blue eyes and shaved head. It’s a man’s body under her elegant clothes, but her easy posture- poised where he was stiff- and her gentle, pleased expression is nothing like Dennis’. The woman hold’s Casey’s gaze without wavering.

 

“He’s not well,” she whispers conspiratorily. “He knows what you're here for.” Her eyes find Marcia next. “He’s not allowed to touch you. He knows that. Mmm-mm…” she continues as if to comfort them. “Hmm?” She reaches for the door handle, having no intention of letting them go, and winks at Casey before locking them in again. Her shoes click confidently on the concrete floor as she exits through the second door as well.

 

Claire and Marcia huddle together against the far wall between the cots, disturbed. After a moment Casey joins them, sitting back down on her cot to think.

 

“He’s just trying to scare us.” Claire decides.

 

“He was having a full conversation with himself.” Marcia adds, “What was that line about ‘the food is waiting’?”

 

Casey is only half paying attention to them, her thoughts on the woman. She couldn’t help but notice that the woman’s body seemed so much slenderer than it had been when she was Dennis. Was it some kind of clever trick with their clothing?

 

What did it mean for the meat?

 

“Does everyone get how whacked this is and that we need to get out of there now?” Claire starts strong, riling herself up for another tirade, but her voice wavers as the fluorescent lights above them flicker back on and the door opens yet again.

 

It’s Dennis this time, carrying a grey bucket with spray bottles in. He enters swiftly making a bee-line for the bathroom.

 

He’s only just glanced in when he exclaims: “Y-No!” he turns to them gesturing to the mess behind him (a damp towel, and Marcia’s soiled pantyhose still crumpled by the tub, dirt stomped off carelessly from Casey’s boots in front of the sink). “Please! Keep your area neat. The bathroom... it’s unacceptable! To make it easy I’ve colour-coded these.” He pulls the bottles from the bucket one by one to show them, his stern expression cracking; pleading, “Use the blue bottle for the floor, and the pink bottle for the ceramic surfaces.” He signs, steps back and motions for them to come take the bucket and get to work.

 

Casey is up and approaching him in an instant. She couldn’t care less about the bathroom, he wouldn’t have to worry about them being tidy if he hadn’t kidnapped them. It’s his own fault if he’s uncomfortable. But she does want to get a closer look at him. He’s changed back into men’s clothes; a charcoal grey button up and fitted trousers. His shirt stretches taut across his chest and shoulders, buttons fastened in a strained line from neck to hip. The muscles of his arms and belly fill his clothes promisingly. He’s firm and full where the woman had been soft and slim.

 

How? It is the same body, isn’t it? Is it chemical; some trick of biology as her own body now was? Or just an illusion?

 

Casey reaches for the handle of the bucket, wrapping her fingers around it firmly, but doesn’t pull away. They stand there, both holding the bucket. Casey leans in a little closer, lips parted, head tilting a little, to breath in his clean scent. His expression shifts under her unabashedly hungry scrutiny, his unexpectedly expressive face betraying his unease. She follows the line of this legs with her gaze, his thick thighs and strong calves flex as if preparing to bolt. He’s wearing boots but seems to be as tall as the woman had been in three-inch heels.

 

_ How? _

 

She wants to ask him how it works, but the hard puff of his distressed breath stops her. His chest heaves slightly, but still visibly with each exhale, and it’s all she can do to keep herself from tearing into him right there in front of the girls.  She needs to get him alone.  _ Soon. _

 

Casey shifts away with the bucket, goes into the bathroom. Claire and Marcia follow; get down on their knees on the floor to start cleaning. Casey remains standing.  Dennis runs a broad hand over his shaved head in a well-practised gesture to try and calm himself. Claire takes the pink bottle and Marcia reaches for her abandoned pantyhose.

 

After a moment Dennis collects himself enough to say “Patricia has reminded me that I was sent to get you for a reason.” voice trembling lightly. “That you are sacred food. And I promise not to bother you again.”

 

He leaves them without further preamble, retreating from the room. Marcia speaks first, sounding calmer than she has since she woke up. “Maybe he has a dog or something? Think he’s gonna fed us to his dogs?”

 

None of them can answer that.

 

After another moment where the two girls clean dispassionately, and Casey catches the wet towel under her boot and drags it across the floor to swipe carelessly at the dirt, Claire asks her:  “What was that? Casey? Just now?”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“What you did… you. You made him… He looked scared of you.” there’s something like awe in Claire’s expression when Casey finally turns to her.

 

“He’s bigger than us.” Casey starts, pauses. Then: “My dad used to take me hunting. Said that does were harder to kill because they never forget they're trying to stay alive. Bucks get distracted. Stupid. In mating season.  Human’s aren’t much different.”

 

“I don’t get it…”

 

“Men expect certain things. They act how they want, and don’t really expect to die. When things aren’t how they think they’re meant to be they hesitate. That guy is built like a brick fuckin’ house. A ‘crazy ass bomb’ isn’t gonna do shit. Not yet. You gotta make him  _ hesitate  _ first _. _ ”

 

“So you make him afraid?” They've stopped cleaning, their attention fully on her, hope and something darker shining in their eyes. Casey feels a stirring inside her. A different kind of hunger. Something even more foreign and heady than her stomach’s needs. She wets her lips, silently reminds herself once more to be good.

 

“Just enough. Too much and he’ll kill you. You have to make him doubt himself.” she sits on the closed lid of the toilet, a priestess before her new disciples. “You leave that to me,” she murmurs lowly.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In. This. House. We. Stan. A. Queen. 
> 
> Haha, I have no control over my life. All I want to do is write. I may not always be able to post this frequently. Sunday-Wednesday will likely see update bombs as I edit and re-write the chapters I've already prepared, but Thurday-Saturday I work a different, more time-consuming job. 
> 
> Every comment makes me want to update faster~! Thank you to everyone who's enjoyed this so far. 
> 
> I wanted to also explain real quick: to justify Casey waiting for the Beast to arrive I'm exaggerating the physical changes that happen to Kevin's body when each alters takes control. Basically, it isn't JUST the Beast's emergence that makes the body change. It's a more consistent low-level shapeshifting ability all the alters unconsciously share. Dennis is meant to be the strongest and biggest so he becomes that. Patricia is meant to be an elegant lady so the body reflects that. I think this would also explain the visible pain they feel when switching between them. 
> 
> Also, thicc Dennis is my gift to you I hope you like it. 
> 
> The poor guy. He and Casey are not on the same page rn. Her definition of 'beefcake' is far more literal.


	4. Not Quite Full Romero

 

 

They have no way to tell the time in the room. They migrate back and forth between the sleeping area and bathroom restlessly. Eventually, the two girls need to sleep, huddled together for comfort and warmth. Casey doesn’t feel cold or heat like she used to, she isn’t completely numb, but the air around her doesn’t have much effect on her. She offers them some of her layers, her flannel overshirt and black hoodie, and they bundle up gratefully.   

 

Their dynamic has shifted dramatically in the short time they’ve been trapped together. Where Casey had been the clear outsider only hours ago the girls have begun deferring to her. She keeps the second cot to herself by silent agreement. Like a pack’s alpha getting the first pick of available resources. 

 

Casey thought she’d have to argue more with Claire, but the girl  _ is _ smart. She’s quickly come to accept that she’s out of her depth, and Casey’s clear ability to cow Dennis has made a deep impression. 

 

Casey lay, now, on her side, eyes closed. Resting but never sleeping. She pulls her senses inward, calling on the familiar sensation of disassociation. Needle sharp between her eyebrows. 

 

As a child she’d had no control over it; anything could trigger it. Stress, violence, anxiety. The feeling of cold air on the back of her neck. The smell of old unwashed beer bottles. 

 

Her only defence against the horrors of the world was to simply not exist in it for a while. Her sight would grey, hearing muffled, her skin unfeeling, her very soul shuttering loose. In the floating dark place inside her mind, there is blessed, sacred nothing. 

 

It’s different from what seems to be happening with their captor. She’s the only mind inhabiting her body, there’s no one else to take control. She’d all but black out and wake again sometime later in the same spot. It’s something she’d learned to call on as she got older when her uncle’s clammy hands would find her in the dark of her room. 

 

Now no hands dare come for her. 

 

She doesn’t need it to protect herself. 

 

She needs it to protect others. 

 

“Casey! Casey!” Claire’s frantic whisper pulls her from her mind and Casey comes back to herself sharply. The girls are sitting up on their cot, pressed together defensively. Their captor sits in the open doorway of their room. 

 

The man looks smaller. Not just because he’s sat crossed legged on the floor, his body looks diminished somehow. He’s grinning at them with sunny excitement, and when he speaks it’s with a childish lisp. 

 

“My name’s Hedwig, I have red socks.” he pauses as if waiting for them to reply. The girls stay quiet. 

 

“He’s on the move!” Hedwig tells them. 

 

“What?” Casey asks, 

 

Hedwig giggles and replies “He’s. On. The. Mooove!” 

 

“Who?”

 

“Someone’s commin’ for you. An’ you're not gonna like it.” he grins, “You guys make noises in your sleep!” 

 

“Tell us,” Marcia says softly. 

 

“I'm not supposed ta say. But! He’s done awful things to people and he’ll do awful things to you. I have blue socks too.”

 

“We’re his food?” Marcia asks,  faint. 

 

Hedwig shrugs, throwing his arms out wide and sniggering in a uniquely childlike gesture.   

 

“How old are you?” Casey asks him. 

 

“Nine!” 

 

“So you’re not the guy who took us?” 

 

“No!” he scoffs

 

“You’re not the lady?” 

 

“What? Are you blind?” 

 

“You don’t know how they think?”

 

“No… they don’t tell me much. I just ate a hotdog.” 

 

“Could you help us, Hedwig?” 

 

“No… I'm not even supposed to be here.” the boy’s sunny smile drops away. He clearly wasn’t prepared to be asked so many questions. “I stole the light from Mr Dennis, but he’ll be back real soon. And I can’t steal the light for too long or he’ll know and get angry. Etcetera!” 

 

His eyes track between them nervously before he moves to leave “See ya!” 

 

“Wait!” 

 

Hedwig pauses, hand on the doorknob. 

 

“We heard something,” Casey says as she slides to the floor to sit cross-legged in front of him. “We didn’t understand it but, now we do. Do you know what we heard?”

 

“What did you hear?” 

 

“Come here!” she breaths, like she’s got an important secret, “I’ll whisper it to you.” 

 

In spite of himself, Hedwig is pulled into the game, grinning again as he says “Okay!” and shuffles over to Casey, his white sneakers squeaking with each eager step. He leans in close, trusting. Casey can hear the excited rhythm of his pulse. It would be so easy to close the gap, sink her teeth into the soft flesh of his jugular. 

 

She swallows thickly. She doesn’t want to kill a child no matter how old his body is. 

 

Besides this new identity has, impossibly, shrunk the body. Dennis is still her best bet. 

 

“This guy…” she whispers, “Is coming for you too.” 

 

Hedwig leans back, frightened. “You’re a big fibber.” 

 

“I never lie Hedwig.” 

 

“But… Mr Dennis? He said he followed those two girls for four days. And he knew that-that-that he would want them!” 

 

Casey softens her expression into the very picture of concern. Hedwig’s eyes shine with unshed tears. “When your not around Dennis and the lady talk about it. They talk about how he also wants a boy this time. They’re going to give him you.”

 

“No…” he stammers, “Miss Patricia she said she's not mad at me anymore. She sings to me sometimes!” 

 

“I think Miss Patricia is still a little mad at you.” 

 

“Miss Patricia thinks I’m… She thinks I’m stupid.” he confides, a tear falling down his cheek. “She thinks I make silly mistakes…” 

 

“Look at me. We’re all being kept here.” she motions to Claire and Marcia, to herself and then to Hedwig, including him in the group. “Until he comes for all of us. We're supposed to be like your babysitters. We’ll let you watch TV and make you a fun dinner. But it’s a distraction. We  _ all _ need to get out of here. You could show us the way out. We could be gone before anybody gets back, but we have to hurry Hedwig. We have to hurry and get out of here.”  

 

It’s a long shot, but if it works she can get Claire and Marcia out of there, then circle back to feed. 

 

“W-wait a minute!” Hedwig pulls back further, “It took forever to make this place safe without the nosey bodies at work here finding out. You can’t get out of here! I have to blow my nose!” 

 

Like a shot, Hedwig is up and out the door. Casey slams into it before she’s even realized she’d gotten up, gasping monstrously. She watches him retreat through the space between the door and the wall, every nerve in her body screaming for her to pursue. 

 

“Who’s coming?” she hears Marcia ask, the girl’s voice tinny and far away as Casey fights to control herself. “This is seriously scary!” 

 

“No one’s coming!” Claire says, but she’s pacing with fright. 

 

“He said something…” Casey moves from the door take a closer look at the drywall needing to focus on something else. “He said something about making the room safe.” 

 

“This is all new drywall!” Claire catches on. 

 

All three begin knocking on the walls desperately seeking a hollow space, something that might have been a way out once. Claire finds it in the ceiling, having climbed onto Casey’s cot to check above them. A single echoing knock betrays the room’s weakness. 

 

Claire climbs down from the cot to grab a stiletto shoe from the floor, and looks to Casey, seeking permission. Casey goes to the door to keep watch and Claire climbs back up to stab at the hollow spot above them with her shoe. 

 

“Casey!” she breathes as she wiggles her fingers into the hole she’s made tearing away chunks of drywall. “You’re right! Something’s here! He was covering up a way out!” She claws at the ceiling, “Tell me if you see him!” 

 

“Marcia, help her, I’ll keep watch.” Casey focuses on her task as Marcia climbs onto the cot to help Claire. Almost immediately Hedwig returns. 

 

“He’s here.” She’s unsatisfied to see him, so small in his yellow tracksuit. The girls aren’t quiet in their efforts and the boy notices the commotion right away. 

 

“Wha? Hey what are you guys doin’?” he calls through the door. 

 

Casey presses up against it; she’s so much stronger now than she’d been in life and doesn’t doubt she can hold it herself. 

 

“Casey?” Marcia moves to get down, but Casey waves her back without looking. 

 

“Keep going!” 

 

“Hey!” Hedwig tries to open the door, finds it blocked. “Okay quit it!” He tries again, the door doesn’t budge. “Hey, guys? Lemme… can you lemme in?” 

 

“Give us a second!” Marcia calls sweetly, drywall dust raining down on her, “We’re changing!” 

 

Hedwig keeps pushing against the door, panic rising, “Guys you’re not being funny!” 

 

Claire pulls the grate from the now exposed ventilation shaft. 

 

“You’re being bitches! Now I’m gonna slap you! I’m gonna slap you in your face!” Hedwig slaps the door, but with only a child’s strength, it barely makes a sound. 

 

Claire boosts Marcia into the vent. 

 

“You’re gonna get me in trouble!” Hedwig pleads as he takes several steps back. He runs at the door slamming into it with his whole body and bounces off the wood with a pained cry. 

 

Casey can hear Marcia shuffle down the vent as Claire desperately tries to pull herself up. 

 

Casey watches Hedwig change. Posture straightening, cringing in pain as he grows taller, wider, stronger. He paces out of sight for only a moment before returning completely shifted into Dennis. 

 

Dennis charges the door with calm confidence. He manages to open it less than an inch. Casey watches his expression contort with confusion, clearly not accustomed to not being strong enough. 

 

Claire succeeds in pulling herself up, following after her friend. 

 

Dennis tries again. 

 

Casey lets him in. 

 

The door hits the wall hard, denting it. Dennis stands in the doorway in complete disarray, shirt unbuttoned, chest heaving as he takes in the scene before him. His eyes flicker wildly around the room, but the clatter of noise the girls make in the vents makes it obvious where they’ve gone. 

 

“You. In the bathroom. Now.” 

 

He means to lock her in so he can chase them down, but Casey isn’t going to let this opportunity pass. She bares her teeth at him. “No.”

“You- this isn’t right!” Dennis growls as he strides forward to grab her, to make her do what he says. “You just can’t be good, can you?” 

 

_ I’ll tell your dad you’re not being nice.  _

 

Casey meets him halfway with unrestrained fury. She knocks him to the floor, pins him by the shoulders. 

 

“I’ve spent  _ ten years _ being good for _ fucks  _ like you!” she hisses, “Why? You’re nothing. Just meat.”  she plunges down, a wolf going for the kill. 

 

Dennis gets an arm between them, faster than John had been, but still shouts in pain as Casey bites, her teeth sinking into the firm meat of his forearm.

 

_ Finally! Oh god! _

 

His blood in her mouth is the most delicious thing she’s ever tasted.

 

Dennis slams his fist against her head and it’s like getting hit with a sledgehammer. Her teeth scrape gouges into his forearm as she reels back. 

 

“What the fuck?” he groans, as he scrambles to his feet, clutching his wounded arm. 

 

Casey leaps to her feet, snarling. Dennis is ready for her as she runs at him. They grapple, Dennis’ eyes wide with confused fear, Casey’s with enraged hunger. They stumble into the second room, Dennis aiming for the door. Casey had expected him to be strong, but he’s also a lot more wily than she’d thought he’d be. She claws at him, he catches her wrists, she snaps her bloody teeth at him. 

 

“What  _ are  _ you?” Dennis demands voice strained with the effort of holding her. 

 

“I’m going to crack your skull open and  _ feast  _ on your brain!” 

 

It isn’t by much but Casey  _ is _ stronger than him; she pulls her hands free, the force of it makes Dennis stumble. Casey takes advantage, pushes him down again, sinks her teeth into his shoulder. 

 

Dennis screams.

 

It’s luck. Absolute luck, that as he struggles he throws a hand behind him and finds a pen that one of the others had carelessly dropped. Dennis plunges it into Casey’s temple.

 

Everything goes black. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot when I was planning this that I suck at writing action scenes. OTL But, I couldn't imagine this scene going any other way. Casey doesn't completely know about the Beast just yet so she's still thinking that Dennis is her best bet. So she has no reason to hinder the girls from trying to escape, especially since she doesn't want them to know about her. It's too good of an opportunity. Of course, I couldn't have her actually eat him so... Deus ex calamus?? 
> 
> I'm still not feeling great about this chapter, but the next one we get another identity taking the light so I hope that makes up for it~!
> 
> (Also you guys might enjoy knowing that my cat likes to lay pressed up against my laptop so that my typing hand rubs his cheek.) 
> 
> (Also Also the dissociation bit is taken from my own personal experiences. I don't know if other people experience it the same as me, but that's how I mostly experienced it as a kid/teen).


	5. Patricia

 

 

 

Casey wakes sluggishly; her eyes are dry, her pulse slow. The fight took a lot out of her with very little reward. It takes her a moment to realize that she’s propped up against the wall of a new room -arms and legs bound with heavy chains- though not nearly so long to realize she isn’t alone.

 

Her captor’s familiar face wears a new expression, his body smaller than Dennis but broader than Patricia. Her clothes are pulled tight around his body, ill-fitting. One sleeve is pushed up high on their arm to accommodate the thick bandaging covering the bite wound. He looks unsteady in Patricia's sensible black pumps. Casey’s instincts scream at her to pounce, but she feels too weak to break the chains.  

 

The new alter scrapes his thumb across his forehead as if expecting to push the brim of a hat up to see her more clearly.

 

“Well slap my ass and call me Bessy!” he exclaims with a wild southern twang. “How the hell did you losers acquire yerselves a zombie?”

 

“Really, Luke!” Patricia says through his mouth, voice stern. “Is such language necessary?”

 

“Given the circumstances Patty…”

 

“We didn’t bring you into the light for vulgarity. You’re the only one of us with any knowledge in regards to this type of… subject. We need you to help us with her.”

 

“Well…” he says, holding up the bloody pen. “I don’t think the usual movies will be much help. Maybe if we cut off her head?”

 

“No.” The body shifts, folding into itself as it becomes Patricia. “ _He_ wants her alive.”

 

Patricia’s brow furrows and her eyes glaze over, looking inward.

 

“That isn’t a concern,” she says primly after a moment; Casey figures that she’s still talking to the other one. “But what does she _need_?”

 

Casey doesn’t have any air left in her lungs to speak with, she chews the air desperately. She needs brains. She needs flesh. _She needs food._

 

“I suppose. She did try to eat poor Dennis.” Patricia paces the small space gracefully, each step deliberate and delicate, listening cooly to whatever Luke has to say. “All the more reason the Beast is necessary. He’s so much stronger than the rest of us, even Dennis. He’ll protect us.”

 

Patricia stops in the centre of the room to watch Casey struggle.

 

“Alright, little dove. If you can understand me please try to calm down.”

 

It’s difficult, but Casey does.

 

“You’re not like the others,” Patricia says, pleased as punch. “You weren’t like this before. Can you still talk?”

 

Casey shakes her head ‘no’ lethargically.

 

“Luke says you’re some kind of zombie.”

 

Casey nods ‘yes’ hesitantly.

 

“He says you need to… feed?” Patricia asks,

 

Casey nods a second time. She chews the air unconsciously, the taste of Dennis’ blood still thick in her mouth.

 

“Hmm!” Patricia looks delighted. She’s positively glowing as she hurries out of the room. Casey can hear her talking, presumably still with Luke, but she can’t make out what they’re talking about through the much thicker door.

 

Casey has no choice but to wait.

 

It could have been a few minutes or a few hours, she has no idea.

 

Her heart stops, her lungs burn and her veins ache.

 

She can see but nothing her eyes take in makes sense.

 

She can hear but nothing sounds right.

 

_‘I screwed up…’_ she thinks sluggishly.  

 

She       slumps back

 

Against the wall,

 

                                                     defeated

 

by                   hunger.

  
  
  


 

 

 

 

 

 

“H-hey..? Miss? Are you..?”

 

A hand presses against her face.

 

“Dude…” the voice is male and unfamiliar. His hand is hot against her chilled dead skin. It burns as he drags it down her face and neck to cup her left breast.

 

_What    the     fuck?_

 

The taste of blood blooms in her mouth suddenly. She drinks, swallowing great gulping mouthfuls. She gnaws on whatever flesh her mouth can find, feeding blindly. After a moment her senses snap back into focus, but it isn’t enough.

 

This man isn’t someone she knows. His throat is nearly completely ripped out, his face mutilated. He must have tried to pry her off, but his hands are gone, vicious bite marks mar the stumps of his arms. He stares forward, in shock, gurgling weakly through his torn throat.

 

Casey crawls over him. Around her the broken links of the chains that bound her clink melodically as they fall to the floor. She takes the man’s head in her hands and beats it against the concrete until it breaks. She pulls the fragments of his skull apart to feed.

 

When her heart starts again it’s with a horrible, unnatural jump. Her pulse goes from nothing to far, far too fast in seconds. Her coagulating blood is forced through her veins. Finally,  her lungs work and she flinches back from her meal to wetly gasp in great pulls of air.  Her diaphragm spasms and she lets out an inhuman wail. All of her nerve endings burn as they flicker back into their half-life. 

 

She keeps eating.

 

When Casey finally feels like herself again, and the agony of her latest resurrection has faded into the cool almost-numbness she’s already grown used to, there is very little left of the man. It’s mostly shredded clothes and dark blood, abandoned bits of skull, clumps of hair and scattered teeth. She ate his skin and muscle, cracked open his bones to suck the marrow out. She ate most of his organs too, leaving his bowels and lower intestines behind like a cat would with a mouse. She’s licking the viscera from her fingers, satiated when a gentle clapping sounds from the corner nearest the door.

 

Patricia is standing just far enough from Casey to not get any gore on her shoes, but she’s speckled with blood from the arterial spray. She’s smiling like a proud mom at her child’s first dance recital.

 

“Splendid! Oh! What a sight to behold!” Patricia breaths, enraptured. “You, my dear...” she places a hand to her chest, “are truly glorious. You are everything _he_ promised was real.”

 

It doesn’t make any sense to Casey, but Patricia blinks back tears of happiness and steps forward.

 

“Are you full now dear? It would mean a great deal to me if you wouldn’t try to eat us again.”

 

Casey could probably still eat more, but she doesn’t really need to.

 

“Why?” she croaks, voice wet. “Why shouldn’t I?”

 

“We can help each other.” Patricia answers. She reaches a hand out to Casey, as careful as if approaching a dangerous animal she wants to tame. “Did you enjoy the meal we brought you?”

 

She did.

 

“You kidnapped a bunch of girls out of a parking lot.” Casey says instead, “Why shouldn’t I eat you? Why should we die and you live?”

 

“ _You_ weren’t supposed to be taken,” Patricia says softly, “That was Dennis’ mistake. Those girls, they’re impure. _Unworthy_. Spoiled and protected, thinking they’re owed anything they’re little hearts' desire, no matter the consequences might be for anyone else.”

 

“So you took them. How does that make you different?”

 

“We know that we’re not _owed_ anything. But we aren’t going to languish in fear and want anymore. We’re going to make this filthy world safer for us. For those like us!” 

 

It's clear Patricia wants so much to convince Casey she's right. It still doesn't make much sense to her, but the honest truth is Casey doesn’t really care. She probably should, but after everything she’s been through, everything she’s become, morality doesn’t mean much to her. She just wants easy meals that the cops won’t try too hard to pursue justice for. 

 

“Alright.”

 

Casey puts her gory hand in Patricia’s clean one and allows herself to be led from the room.

 

“Let’s get you cleaned up and into some fresh clothes, hm?”

 

Patricia leads her to a different bathroom, this one spotlessly clean but obviously their bathroom. There are three cups filled with toothbrushes on the sink counter, and several different brands of soap bars and body washes lining the edges of the tub and crammed into a shower caddy hanging from the shower head. A tall pink bottle of Mr Bubble takes place of pride in the middle of it all. Patricia starts the shower.

 

“Let’s get you out of these clothes.” Patricia tugs at Casey’s blood-soaked clothes. Not too long ago that would have sent Casey into a panic attack. Now she lets Patricia tug her ruined top and camisole off her without flinching. Patricia helps her out of her boots and the rest of her clothes. She isn’t impersonal in her touch, but neither is she predatory. It’s clear she’s enjoying this. From the blood in Casey's hair to scars scattered densely all over her body, there isn’t any part of her Patricia doesn’t gaze at rapturously.

 

It isn’t the way John used to look at her. His gaze was covetous, his dark eyes soulless and greedy.

 

Patricia looks at her like she’s divine. Like it’s an honour to be allowed to.

 

Casey thinks Patricia is probably the craziest person she’s ever met and lets her manoeuvre her into the shower. If the water is too hot or cold she can’t really tell. Patricia retrieves a fresh face cloth from the cupboard under the sink.

 

“May I?” she asks as she turns back to Casey.

 

Casey nods, and Patricia lathers the cloth with a body wash that smelled of roses. “This one is mine.” the woman confides as she gently scrubs the blood and filth from Casey’s skin and hair.

 

Casey wonders what it means to Patricia to make her smell like her. Maybe nothing, but the youthful blush painting her pleased, matronly expression makes her think otherwise. It was probably better to smell of roses than a morgue anyway.

 

Eventually, Patricia decides Casey is clean enough. She turns off the shower and Casey steps out.  Patricia dries her with the towel hanging near the shower. It feels clean, fluffy and soft.

 

Casey wants to ask about Claire and Marcia. They must have been caught. She doubts Patricia would be so happy if her intended victims were running loose somewhere. Were they still alive? Casey stays silent. Patricia dries her hair gently with the towel before taking a brush to it.

 

Casey’s dad had stopped bathing her when she was five or six. She remembers that he’d draw her a bath, making sure it was just the right temperature. He’d set out her favourite bubble gum scented shampoo, and a cloth, and make sure the soap was in reach. Then he’d leave the room and she’d bathe herself, feeling very grown up. He’d check on her nearly every minute, talking with her through the door to make sure she didn’t have an accident, but he never came in the room. Her poor awkward father tried so hard to teach her bodily autonomy.

 

John would watch her shower. He didn’t care about her autonomy.

 

Casey had never been bathed by her mother. She doesn’t think this thing with Patricia is anything like it would have been, but she drinks up the feminine attention anyway, as voraciously as she’d drunk the stranger’s blood.

 

Patricia wraps the towel around Casey’s shoulders and then braids her hair.

 

“I’ll fetch you something to wear,” Patricia says when there’s nothing left she can do, no reason left to linger. She leaves the room with blood still on her face.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Casey FEEDS! For Patricia dinner IS the show! 
> 
> Haha... oh man. I have mixed feelings about this chapter. I realized when I got to it to look it over that it didn't make any sense. So I had to re-write it completely. I'm still not sure it makes much sense? Also, there are only so many times one can write a character waiting alone in a room without it getting boring. 
> 
> Suprise it's Luke! I want to write more with him. So many of Kevin's alters get no love! 
> 
> Speaking of love: I love Patricia so be prepared for more of that! There will be no Patricia bashing in my fic. Seriously, go watch James McAvoy talk about her in interviews and tell me she isn't super interesting! 
> 
> Um... Casey can still feel anxiety to a certain extent, and she has strong survival instincts, but she's completely lost the ability to feel actual fear. Because of this, she is more tolerant of some things that she wouldn't have been previously. She's also spent her life almost completely surrounded by men. There will be too much growing sexual tension from Patricia to call her interactions with Casey motherly, but she doesn't give Casey the same icky vibes that her uncle would have. Plus this Casey craves any form of feminine attention that she didn't have as a child. At this point, she wouldn't have let one of Kevin's male alters get away with this stuff, but even in cannon Casey never doubted Kevin's DID, so to her Patricia IS a woman.


	6. Be Our Guest

 

 

 

The clothes Patricia brings her are too big but serviceable all the same. Casey pulls the drawstrings on the jogging pants tight to keep them cinched around her waist. The t-shirt is bright yellow and stamped with the Philadelphia Zoo logo, Casey figures it must be one of Hedwig’s. She pulls a black cardigan on over it all. There’s no bra or underwear, but there is a pair of hot pink socks. Clean, dressed, belly full, and completely refreshed Casey steps out of the bathroom.

 

She takes a deep breath, letting her senses reach out around her. To her right, she can hear two feminine voices whispering. Claire and Marcia, re-captured and frightened. Casey considers going back to them, to bask in their fragile respect. But if she does that they’ll expect her to save them, and she isn’t sure she can. Her fight with Dennis didn’t go as planned, and if what Patricia has said is true then there’s someone else involved with all this that’s even stronger than him.

 

Casey thinks of Patricia’s adoration and turns left. From this direction, she can hear the rhythmic scratching of a scrub brush on concrete. She follows the sound to the room where she’d fed. She finds Dennis there on his hands and knees, scrubbing firmly at the large sticky blood stain. He’d have only just started, considering Patricia had control of the body until a few minutes ago. Casey watches him work. Marvelling at how differently the separate identities that share the body can make her feel. If it were Patricia cleaning up she’d probably offer to help. Dennis, though.

 

Casey kind of likes seeing him on his knees.

 

Dennis inhales sharply when he notices her. He sits up straight, yellow rubber gloves covered in pink foam.

 

“You look normal,” he says awkwardly.

 

“I do when I’ve eaten,” she replies coolly.

 

He looks at the blood then back to Casey. “It was messy.”

 

“Yes, it was.”

 

“Are you going to help clean it up?”

 

“No. I’ll get dirty again.”

 

Dennis huffs, annoyed but too hesitant to push her. She wonders why. He’d won their fight but he isn’t any less intimidated by her than before. Not that she’s complaining.

 

“What is it like?” he asks voice strained.

 

“Hm?”

 

“What’s it like. Eating people?”

 

“Dunno.”

 

“You don’t know?”

 

“I don’t feel bad about it. If that’s what you mean. It tastes like pennies. All the blood and meat. I hurt, and then I feed, and then it doesn’t hurt for a while. That’s all.”

 

“That’s all,” he repeats

 

“You’re asking because of the Beast,” Casey says, stepping further into the room.

 

Dennis goes back to scrubbing. He’s already collected the leftover bits and put them in a black garbage bag. There isn’t enough to fill even half of it.

 

“Is he an alter? Does he share your body like Patricia, Luke and Hedwig do?”

 

“It isn’t my body.” Dennis keeps scrubbing, making quick work of the blood.

 

“No?”

 

“The Beast is one of us,” he says, scowling at the floor.

 

“If he feeds like me you’ll have a lot more messes to clean up.”

 

Dennis flinches with his whole body, bent over the mess. He makes a small anguished sound, not quite a sob. “I can’t…”

 

“If it helps, you don’t have to bring the food back here every time.”

 

“What?”

 

“What’s left of my uncle is feeding maggots in Allegheny.” she shrugs.

 

“That’s five hours away.”

 

“I’m not saying you have to go all the way out there. Just… you don’t have to do it here. Let the mess be someone else’s problem.”

 

“Right.”

 

“I’m guessing you threw out my clothes,” she says unconcerned.

 

“They were ruined.”

 

“Fair…”

 

Dennis sits up again, squinting at her suspiciously “Why are you here. If you're not gonna help?”

 

“Dunno. I like watching you I guess.”

 

“You- what?”

 

“I like your body. The way it looks when you’re in it. I want to eat you.”

 

“You-?”

 

The gamy copper smell of the blood is practically drowned out by the same scent Dennis had given off in the car days ago. Fear and arousal in equal measure. Casey wonders if he’d smell like that if she ate him, for the time he was alive at least. She could do it slowly, savour it. She leans towards him, tempted.

 

“That’s not a euphemism for sex. Strong bodies are the best. More filling.” The man she’d just eaten is only her third kill, but she’s pretty certain all the same.

 

“You told Patricia you wouldn’t eat us,” he says, voice shaking.

 

“I didn’t actually.”

 

Dennis stands, peeling the bloody yellow gloves from his hands, preparing for a fight. She lets him pose for a moment, his chest rising and falling as he breaths heavily through his nose. His arms flexing under his rolled up shirt sleeves.

 

“No pens in here.” Casey grins, tapping the new puckered pink scar on her temple playfully.

 

Dennis glances around anxiously for a weapon. Casey decides to have a little mercy on him.

 

“Mmm… I guess I won’t eat you today,” she says, as casually as if she were deciding between pizza delivery or Chinese take out. Dennis huffs and scrapes his hand across his shaved head. She leaves the room, figuring she’s bullied him enough for now. After a minute or two, the rhythmic scrubbing starts up again. His delectable scent follows her as she explores.

 

Casey finds the kitchen, but there isn’t anything she wants there so she strolls through to the next room. The living room is cosy, with mismatched furniture and second-hand decorations adding warmth to the old stucco walls. Some of the pieces look like the sort of things people would have furnished their cottages with in the ‘90s; Casey feels unexpectedly charmed by the space. She finds the remote for the TV on one of the side tables, sprawls on the couch comfortably, tucking a decorative pillow under her head, and looks for something on TV  to distract her.

 

She’s watching a news report about her own abduction over an hour later when Hedwig barrels into the room. He stops suddenly when he sees her, teetering on his feet.

 

“Hey,” he chirps feigning a casual attitude.

 

“Hey,” Casey says back.

 

“You’re the biggest fattest fibber in the whole world you know that?”

 

“Oh, yeah I know.”

 

Hedwig grins.

 

“Mr Dennis told me not to go near you.”

 

“I won’t tell if you won’t.” Casey sits up, patting the space next to her. Hedwig bounces over.

 

“You want me to say ‘sorry’ for lying,” she asks him.

 

“Nooo…” Hedwig giggles, “You wouldn’t mean it, huh?”

 

“Nooo,” Casey singsongs.

 

“Hah! Well, we _was_ gonna feed you to the Beast.”

 

“We’ll say we’re even then.”

 

Hedwig bobs his head in an enthusiastic nod.  “What’cha watch’in?”

 

“Nothing really.” she passes him the remote when he makes grabby hands for it.

 

“You like music videos?” Hedwig changes the channel to MTV, clearly hoping for music videos but getting reality TV instead. He blows a raspberry at the teens on the screen.

 

“Sure, I usually watch them on my phone though.”

 

“Yeah. Jade said you use to be able to watch 'em on TV any time, but now it’s all ‘dumbasses bein’ stupid for money’. “

 

“Jade doesn’t like reality shows?” Casey doesn’t know who Jade is, but rolls with it.

 

“She says that but she watches that stuff _so much_!” Hedwig flops back, pouting at the lack of good TV. “Wanna watch a movie?”

 

“Sure,” Casey lets him pick a DVD from the shelf by the TV. He springs back to the couch, bouncing on the cushions twice as the main menu for The Hulk loads. Hedwig hits play and wiggles around to get comfortable.

 

“Mr Dennis says you wanna eat us,” Hedwig says after a moment.

 

“I want to eat Mr Dennis,” Casey replies,

 

“Not me?”

 

“Nah.” Casey shrugs,

 

Hedwig squirms happily and watches the movie for a few more minutes.

 

“Do you want to eat Mr Dennis ‘cause of adult stuff I’m not supposed to know about?”

 

“What?” Casey laughs, “No. He’s the biggest, I told him that.”

 

“Mr Dennis doesn’t tell me nothin’. I told _you_ that!” he pokes her in the shoulder. “Anyway, how do you know Mr Dennis is the biggest?”

 

“Your body is different depending on who’s using it, right?”

 

“Really?”

 

“Yeah, you guys are like some kind of shapeshifter or something. You didn’t know?” Casey's surprised, do they really not know that their body changes? 

 

“No way! Really?” Hedwig bounces excitedly, “Wait! Are you fibbin’ again?”

 

“Not this time, bud. If you guys were all the same size I’d have eaten _you_ in the other room, remember?”  

 

“Oh!”

 

“Yeah I was _suuuper mega extra_ hungry then too!” she leans sideways closer to Hedwig, he leans closer to her, caught up in the moment. “But I wanted to wait for Mr Dennis because he’s bigger and smells like food.”

 

“I eat hotdogs when I’m hungry!”

 

“Oh man, Hedwig! I really miss hotdogs!” Casey sighs dramatically.

 

“I can make you one!” he offers,

 

“That’s really nice, but I don’t eat them any more. They don’t taste good now that I’m a flesh-eating abomination risen from the grave.”

 

Hedwig’s wide grin is infectious. Casey can’t help but want to be silly with him. Truthfully she hasn’t felt this animated in a long time, not since well before her transformation into the undead.

 

“You’re so weird! What do hotdogs taste like now?”

 

“Hmm… I guess they taste like _farts_ now,” she says. Really, normal food tastes more like styrofoam, plastic and boring. Casey’s deliberately gross answer is rewarded when Hedwig laughs loud and carefree.

 

On the TV the Hulk has just made his first appearance. Hedwig watches, face red from laughing. Once Bruce Banner has escaped his pursuers Hedwig turns to Casey again.

 

“When the Beast comes he’s gonna be like the Hulk if the Hulk was Wolverine!”

 

“Wow!”

 

“I know!”

 

Casey isn’t sure she can take down a Wolverine-Hulk. Reluctantly, she accepts that her Dennis eating plans will have to be cancelled for good. It’s disappointing but she’d probably feel bad about it later knowing that eating Dennis would mean eating Hedwig and Patricia too.

 

“The Beast is gonna get rid of all the impure people so the world can be safe for Kevin.” Hedwig drops his head so he’s leaning against Casey’s shoulder, trusting and naive. Somehow, even though the body is still adult he smells like a child.

 

“Who’s Kevin?” she asks him,

 

“He’s, um, the original? He was born with the body, but he needs us to protect him.”

 

“I see. You protect him from the ‘impure people’?”

 

“I can’t ‘cause I’m just a kid. Mr Dennis and Miss Patricia use to, but the impure people are even more meaner than ever! That’s why we need the Beast.”

 

“Who’re the impure people?”

 

“Um, they’re, like, the people who haven’t done any suffering. They’re not special but they make the world bad for people like us who are.”

 

Casey isn’t sure the logic tracks, but maybe that’s just because it’s a child explaining it.

 

“So Claire and Marcia are impure?”

 

“Yeah! They’re just like those girls that hurt Barry!”

 

“Who’s Barry?”

 

“Barry’s one of us!” Hedwig says, pointing to his head. “He used to be the one that got to decide who could be in the light, and we had to just sit in our chairs, but I can take the light any time I want so now Barry’s gotta just sit in _his_ chair ‘til I say so!”

 

“Wow,”  It’s a lot of information, and Casey doesn’t really understand it all. She files it all away to ask about later.

 

A chime goes off in the kitchen, it sounds like a text or an email alert from a phone. Hedwig ignores it, comfy and entertained. He’s basking in the one-on-one attention, not unlike Casey had with Patricia earlier.

 

The chime sounds a second time. Against her shoulder, Hedwig tenses up. She can feel his body changing, becoming bigger, broadening. Dennis flinches into an upright position. He squints at her without his glasses, scrunching his brow in a way that shouldn’t be cute but kind of is.

 

“Hi again,” Casey says to him.

 

“Hedwig wasn’t supposed to go near you,” he replies sternly.

 

“We’re watching The Hulk.” she points at the TV. 

 

“You’re dangerous.”

 

“I don’t eat kids, Dennis.”

 

“But you try to trick them. That shows who you really are.”

 

He wants so badly to be angry with her, she thinks. It’s easier to be angry than frightened. “We worked it out.”

 

Another chime. Dennis curses under his breath and hurries into the kitchen. Casey follows, letting the movie play on. She finds him scowling at his cell phone.

 

“You have to go back into the other room,” he says to her.

 

Casey points over her shoulder at the living room questioningly.

 

“No, the storage closet. I have to go somewhere.”

 

“Oh, you want to lock me up. You know I can break out, right? I’m super strong, especially after I’ve eaten.” she curls an arm up in a mock flexing pose. This is the second time in something like a day that they’ve had this kind of conversation and it isn’t going to go the way Dennis wants this time either.

 

Dennis kind of looks like he wants to cry, but at this point, Casey doesn’t think that’s unusual for him. “No, I have to go. I can’t just leave you out!”

 

“Dennis, literally, the only reason I’m still here is because I want to be.”

 

“You’ll let the sacred food out. You already tried to free them.”

 

Casey knows that if Claire and Marcia escape they’ll lead the cops right back to the zoo. They’ve seen Dennis’ face, there’s no undoing this. Casey has no reason to think the courts will go easy on them either. They’ll either assume that ‘Kevin’ is faking and sentence them to prison or believe they really do have DID and lock them up in a hospital somewhere. It’s the morally right thing, actually. Casey should help the girls and have Dennis and the others locked up. But she’s hesitant to do that. She hasn’t exactly been raised with gold standard morals, and even before his death, her sweet, guileless father made a hobby of killing.

 

And they’re like her. Not a zombie, no, but different. Not normal; they're special. The Beast will need to feed on human flesh as Casey does. And no one develops DID by having a kind childhood. They’re the same in _so many ways_. Ways that Claire and Marcia will never understand. The girls don’t deserve to die, but neither do rabbits when the foxes are hungry.

 

“It’s different now,” she tells him. “I was going to eat you then. I wouldn’t need to eat them, so I didn’t want them to know about me. I’d have to go to school with them after.”

 

“So you aren’t going to eat us?”

 

“I can’t really promise that. But… I’ll try.”

 

“Why?”

 

“I want to meet the Beast.” she hasn’t given it much thought in the short time she’s known about the Beast, but she knows it’s true as she says it. She wants to meet someone who has to feed like her.  “If I kill you I can’t. And it wouldn’t be very polite to let his food escape.”

 

“I can’t trust you,” he says.

 

He’s not wrong, Casey thinks. She doesn't want to disappoint Patricia or even Hedwig at the moment, but she knows all bets are off with Dennis. She hasn’t forgiven him, she realizes, for trying to molest Marcia. Of the three identities she’s gotten to know Dennis is the one with the aggressive sexual appetites, and Casey doesn’t trust _him_.  No matter how good he smells he’s got the worst thing in common with her uncle, and she’s deliberately keeping him off balance because of it.

 

“You can take me with you?”

 

“No, someone will see you!”

 

“I’ll wear a hat,” she suggests,

 

“No- Wait.” Patricia interrupts Dennis, “This could work.”

 

Dennis’ severe button up deflates as Patricia’s slim form replaces his bulky one.

 

“The others are worrying Dr Fletcher so. Our new friend could help us with that.” Patricia smiles at Casey sly and plotting. Casey smiles back.

 

“You want me to eat him?”

 

“Her, dear. And no. But you could make an excuse for us.” Patricia glides over to her, and Casey turns her face up to the woman like a flower in the sun. “We could tell her that we found you.”

 

“Oh! And I can’t remember anything about what happened because I was knocked out. But I don’t want to go home because…”

 

“Because?” Patricia tilts her head just so, the very picture of soft concern. Casey thinks she could learn a lot from her.

 

“Um. Because of my uncle. You saw my scars.” she doesn’t know why she still feels shy talking about it. He’s dead and gone and everything is different. But even though her fear has been washed away by blood, she still feels ashamed and angry about what he’d done to her.

 

“He’s the one that hurt you?”

 

“Yes. I killed him, but no one knows that. He was a bum, didn’t work and would go on these benders that would last days. No one’s even thought to look for him yet.”

 

“Darling girl! No, you can’t go back to _that._ ”

 

“I tried talking to people before. Teachers. I tried telling a cop once, but… they didn’t believe me. Uncle John was charming when he wasn’t being lazy and drunk. People liked him too much.” Casey doesn’t even try to keep the bitterness from her voice.

 

“No one believed Kevin either,” Patricia admits quietly. She gentles her palm down Casey’s cheek, fingertips brushing against her new scar.

 

“I’ll be eighteen soon, but until then the cops can still make me go back to him. I really don’t know anything about what happened to Claire and Marcia. Please… don’t make me go back there. Please…” Casey lets her voice tremble, her eyes water. It isn’t hard, she’s begged like this before. Only then she’d meant it. Then she still had something to fear.

 

“You really are a most accomplished liar aren’t you?” Patricia says happily.

 

“Only when I have to be." The best lies are mostly true anyway.

 

“Mm! So, we found you, you begged us not to tell. Barry was going to call the police of course. You’re underage, it’s what’s expected, but _I_ took the light from him and promised to keep you safe. I’m not really allowed in the light you know. The others, well...” she winks at Casey, “That’s why they keep trying to contact Dr Fletcher, they think I’m doing something terribly wrong.”

 

“But you’re just trying to help me.” Casey finishes.

 

“Just so.” she taps Casey’s nose primly with a finger, “We’ll have Dennis take us to Dr Fletcher’s office. But I’ll take over to explain, with your help.”  

 

"Okay," 

 

Plan in place, they prepare to leave.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you like conversations~ 
> 
> I'm not sure if I'm writing Casey too mercurial or not, but she spends most of Split afraid and that's not a personality trait! She isn't in Glass enough IMO either... 
> 
> I'm taking a lot of inspiration from my youngest brother for Hedwig. He just turned 10 not too long ago. In any conversation with a 9-year-old, mentioning farts is guaranteed to win them over. We were once at a public pool and he was hoarding all the kickboards. When he asked me to give him the one I was sitting on I said "But it's under my butt! That's where my farts come from!" and he laughed so hard he lost them all. Haha, what a goof! 
> 
> Also, Casey probably isn't going to realize that she's hot for Dennis for a while because he made a super bad first impression, lol. 
> 
> Also Also! The Horde, as well as Kevin's other alters, aren't yet aware that they change physically when they swap identities because it's a new thing that's just started with the Beast's awakening. Hedwig, Dennis and Patricia are very distracted by everything else to think about it too hard. Luke probably just figured Patricia was into wearing tight clothes now and didn't give it much thought. Hedwig likes baggy clothes anyway so he wouldn't notice much difference, and since he's supposed to be 9 not being able to reach things feels more normal than being a tall adult does. Dennis thinks Barry shrunk his shirts in the last wash and that's why they don't fit right. He's pretty mad about it actually. lol Anyway, way that's my explanation since this is all through Casey's POV and she wouldn't know any of this.


	7. Dr Fletcher

 

 

 

Dennis changes out of Hedwig’s clothes before they go. With nothing to do Casey waits in the living room thinking that it must be exhausting changing so many times in a day. When Dennis comes back he’s in his usual trousers and button down, and he’s got a pale pink shawl slung over one arm; he hands her a Phillies cap and a pair of leopard print sunglasses.  She puts them on tugging her hair through the hat’s closure and settling the sunglasses on her face with a flourish. 

 

“Don’t talk to anyone,” he orders with extreme disapproval as he passes her a pair of too big sneakers as well. 

 

“Sure,” Casey nods agreeably. 

 

Dennis side-eyes her with suspicion as he leads her out. Casey’s pretty excited to go see this Dr Fletcher. It’s evening when they finally emerge into the open air. Their car is older than Mr Benoits, but extremely well kept. Casey sits in the front passenger seat, slumped comfortably. Dennis folds and places the shawl in the back before getting into the driver’s seat. He pulls his yellow handkerchief from his coat pocket and wipes down the steering wheel before starting the car. 

 

“You could wear gloves,” Casey says as they pull out the private parking area. “..if touching things is too much.” 

 

“Gloves are harder to clean,” Dennis says tersely. 

 

“Does that really matter?” she doesn’t think the difficulty of having to clean something ever stopped him before. 

 

“I don’t actually like cleaning. It needs to be done. Why dirty something I don’t have to?” 

 

“Okay, okay. It was just a suggestion.”

 

“I don’t need suggestions.” he snaps. “I don’t need some teenage girl telling me what to do!” 

 

“No, that’s what you have Patricia for.” she snaps back.

 

The silence between them is ringing, tense. They both glare forward at the road. Casey takes a breath, then another, deeper. She’s angry, her fun mood spoiled. Part of her still remembers the shadow of anxiety she used to feel when a big man snapped at her like that. She reminds herself that fighting with Dennis won’t do any good. She reminds herself that she also doesn’t need to make excuses for him. 

 

“You don’t raise your voice at me like that again Dennis,” she tells him, her voice quiet but firm. 

 

“Excuse me?” he glances at her from the corner of his eye incredulously. 

 

“You heard me.” 

 

“I wouldn’t be upset if you-”

 

“I wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t decided on teenage girls.” she interrupts him, making a real effort not to raise her voice. “Hedwig said the Beast wants to kill ‘impure’ people. That’s pretty vague don’t you think? He also said you followed Claire and Marcia around for days. _ You  _ chose them. I’m here because  _ you _ chose teenage girls.” 

 

“You weren’t part of the plan,” he says just as quietly. 

 

“That doesn’t make it better.” 

 

“I thought you didn’t care!” 

 

“I’m reminding you so you don’t get all self-righteous on me.” 

 

“This isn’t fair.” Dennis tells her, “You don’t treat Patricia like this. She’s gonna sacrifice those girls just the same! This was all her idea in the first place! I just wanted _out!_ ” 

 

Casey feels her anger slipping. She knows full well this whole situation is a shit show, no matter how much fun she can squeeze from it. Dennis isn’t wrong that Casey favours Patricia, but it’s not the killing that bothers her, it’s the sex. She was going to let him squirm for a while longer, but it’s clear Dennis’ stamina for this isn’t great. His eyes are red-rimmed and wet with unshed tears, an anxious pink colour streaks across his face. It doesn’t help her resolve at all that she kind of likes his crying face. She needs to try and explain. 

 

“Would you have stopped at the dancing?” she asks him, 

 

“What?” 

 

“You dragged Marcia off to make her dance for you. That wouldn’t have been it though, would it? You’d get that and then want something else. It doesn’t stop.” 

 

“I just wanted to see her dance,” he argues weakly. 

 

“Dennis I’ve spent my whole life surrounded by the kinds of men who like to look at the bodies of underage girls. They never stop at just looking. Once they have a girl at their mercy…” she shakes her head as if to dislodge her memories, “...there isn’t any.” 

 

“No… I’m not. I’m not like that…” 

 

“You stopped because Patrica made you. You want to be treated better, then  _ be  _ better.” 

 

“I’m _ trying. _ ” he gasps, “You don’t understand! I’m always trying so hard to be good!” 

 

“I’ve heard that before too.” 

 

“God-!” 

 

Dennis pulls the car over. Casey stares out her window unto the growing dark of the evening while Dennis breaks down. She kind of feels bad for pushing him so far so soon. They’ve known each other for, what? Three days? Granted the circumstances are unique. She just can’t bring herself to go easy on him. Casey is fairly certain Patricia feels some kind of desire for her, their moment in the bathroom fairly compelling. But Patricia had been grateful with her, where Dennis had been covetous with Marica. There’s a line that even dulled as she is she can’t stand to see crossed. 

 

Casey doesn’t keep time, and she doesn’t look at him. She never liked it when people watched her cry, as contrary as her feelings about Dennis are she doesn’t want to humiliate him like that. Other ways certainly, but not like that. 

 

“I’m sorry I yelled at you,” he says wetly when he’s calm enough to.

 

“I’m Casey.” 

 

He looks at her confused, she meets his too-blue eyes. She’s unapologetic but ready to move on. 

 

“I never told any of you my name. Your doctor friend might think it's weird if you don’t know it when we get there.” 

 

“Okay. Casey.” 

 

They drive the rest of the way in stilted silence until they reach a nice looking brownstone house. Dennis parks in front of the building, grabs the shawl, and they head inside. He leads her up a circular staircase to the top floor. The building is carpeted and clean, bright and floral in the way that suggests being owned, or lived in by at least one elderly lady of some authority. Dennis makes a beeline to a solid wooden door near the top of the stairs. 

 

“I’ll go in first. Don’t go anywhere.” 

 

“Okay.” 

 

Dennis knocks twice and then lets himself in, closing the door after him. It’s a testament to his state of mind that he just leave her there. She could take off and he’d never be able to catch her.  After a few minutes, it’s Patricia who comes to fetch her. 

 

“Casey,” she calls her name. 

 

Casey wonders how much of her conversation with Dennis just now Patricia heard. Is she upset with her for making him cry? But, no. Patrica’s expression is glittering and serene as she tugs gently on Casey’s braid and ushers her into the room. The room's decorations balance precisely between bohemian and professional. With her back to the door, an elderly woman sits in a fine leather chair. Across from her is another chair and Patricia guides Casey to it. The woman looks like she’s trying to collect herself from an unexpected shock, she’s resting her chin in the palm of her right hand, one finger tapping the disturbed pinch of her lips. 

 

“You saw them change,” Casey says solemnly in lieu of a proper greeting. Patricia stands behind the chair, tilting her head curiously at Casey. 

 

“Oh.” the woman’s gaze focuses on Casey. “It was unprecedented,” she says

 

“They don’t seem to know it happens.” Casey says, “At least Hedwig didn’t.” 

 

“You’ve met Hedwig?” 

 

“And Luke, sort of.” 

 

“I’m sorry, who are you?” 

 

“Casey,” she reaches out a hand to the woman who shakes it out of habit. “Casey Cooke. And you’re Dr Fletcher right?” 

 

“Yes,” she says, then gathers herself, sitting up straighter in her chair. “Why do I know that name?” 

 

“About three days ago I was abducted from the King of Prussia Mall parking lot. Me and two classmates.” 

 

Dr Fletcher gasps, her gaze flicking to Patricia confused, but not accusatory. That’s good, Casey thinks. Whoever this doctor is it’s clear she’s important to Patricia and the others. If that’s the case they need her on their side. 

 

“I woke up in Philly.” she continues, “By some dumpsters… I don’t know what happened to Claire and Marcia. I don’t remember much.” 

 

“Dennis found her.” Patricia adds, “By the gas station near the zoo.” 

 

“Dennis?” Dr Fletcher asks. Casey wonders how much of his particular proclivities she knows about. 

 

“It was dark… I don’t know. My head hurt so much.” Casey rubs her head behind her ear where her hair might reasonably hide a bruise. “He said he’d call the police for me I think,  but I freaked out.” 

 

“He brought her home, the goose!” 

 

“And you’ve been staying with them for three days?” Dr Fletcher asks, unsure. 

 

“Look, Dr Fletcher. I’m going to be eighteen soon. I-” Casey looks at her hands, folded in her lap. 

 

“It’s alright, dove. You can trust the doctor.” Patricia places a hand on her shoulder comfortingly. Across from them Dr Fletcher’s cheeks pink with pride. Casey tries not to grin; Patricia seems to have that effect on people. 

 

“My uncle.” she starts voice trembling,  “He. If I can just… stay missing? For a little while. Then- then they can’t make me go back.” 

 

“Casey?” Dr Fletcher leans forward, honestly worried. “Why don’t you want to go back? What about your parents?” 

 

“My parents are dead.” Casey sniffs, “My uncle has custody of me. I don’t… I don’t want to... play animals…   anymore.” 

 

“Animals?” 

 

“Animals don’t wear clothes.” 

 

It doesn’t matter that they’re lying to cover up for the Beast’s emergence, or that John is dead and gone. It’s still legitimately the hardest thing Casey’s ever said. The grief and shame in her voice are very real. Patricia’s fingers twitch on her shoulder and Casey reaches up to hold them. 

 

Dr Fletcher leans back in her chair appropriately horrified. 

 

Patricia clears her throat, “I know this doesn’t look very good doctor. The others -Barry- wanted to call the police, of course, but I vetoed it.” 

 

“You did?” the doctor turns her attention to Patricia. 

 

“The police never helped Kevin. Not once,” she says firmly. “What kind of person would I be if I let them take her back to that brute? I refuse to allow it. The others don’t agree with me. They don’t remember what it was like.” 

 

“That’s why they keep emailing me.” the doctor finishes, “This could be very dangerous for you Patricia, for Kevin. Harbouring an underaged girl. One who’s an abduction victim.”  she tried to argue, but it’s clear her resolve is wavering. 

 

“I’d like to think Kevin wouldn’t want to send her back either.” Patricia answers. 

 

“And what about the other missing girls?” 

 

“I don’t know…” Casey says miserably. She takes off her sunglasses, eyes damp with unshed tears. “Please… I really don’t know what happened to them. If I did I’d tell someone, I would! I just… I can’t go back...” 

 

“We came here out of courtesy, doctor. For everything you’ve done for us. But you must know that no matter what your opinion of the matter is I won’t allow _this_ child to be returned to that nightmare.” 

 

“Kevin had a history of running away as a child. It began with your emergence didn’t it Patricia?” There’s something like dawning understanding in the doctor’s voice like she’s putting together clues Casey doesn’t know. 

 

“Dennis has always aged along with Kevin. Hedwig was only nine. Kevin needed an adult. They all did. A  _ responsible _ adult would remove a child from an abusive situation. Would remove the threat.” 

 

“I imagine it was very difficult to execute your purpose while in a little boy’s body.” Dr Fletcher sympathises. 

 

“They accused him of ‘playing at adult’.” Patricia scoffs, “Well there’s no ‘playing’ now. I won’t fail where others have. I won’t make their mistakes.”  

 

Casey wants to hug Patricia, or rather she wants Patricia to hug her. How many years did she dream of having a champion just like this? For someone to see her and what was happening, and charge in with their proverbial sword drawn. A knight in shining armour to spirit her away to safety. Would Patricia have been this fierce if they’d met when Casey was younger? Forget the armour, Casey would have taken a knight in a pink shawl. It’s too late now, Casey has already saved herself, but the fantasy is powerful.

 

“Alright,” the doctor concedes. “But please be careful! I don’t want anything happening to you.” 

 

It’s amazing. Casey thinks. This woman is so entirely on their side, Kevin’s and his alters’, that she’s willing to trust them and possibly let two girls die. She absolutely refuses to believe that they have anything to do with the disappearance. A good-hearted fool. 

 

“We will, doctor.” Patricia promises. 

 

They don’t stay much longer. Dr Fletcher begs Patricia to return soon for a proper appointment to talk about the effect shifting between alters has started having on their body. They agree on a date and time and Patricia puts a reminder in their phone dutifly. Casey puts her sunglasses back on when they leave. 

 

In the car, Patricia has to adjust the driver’s seat forward. 

 

“Well.” she says, “That was a lot wasn’t it?” 

 

“Yeah.” 

 

“I don’t know what to think about first! It’s simply a lot!” 

 

“You mean my fucked up back-story, the stuff with Kevin, your shape-shifting, or the fact that Dr Fletcher is willing to let you guys get away with some pretty sketchy stuff?” 

 

“Was it true? What you said about ‘playing animals’?” 

 

“Yeah. That was all true. The only thing I lied about was Claire and Marcia, and the gas station. Everything else is true.” 

 

“Well..!” Patricia drives them back. She’s not as sure behind the wheel as Dennis was. She forgets to signal, and they’re almost to the zoo when she realizes she hasn’t put her seatbelt on. At one point they’re cut off while turning and Patricia rolls down her window to flip the other driver the most elegant bird Casey’s ever seen. It’s a miracle they aren’t pulled over. Casey smiles at the display. It’s kind of cute that she drives like a grumpy, absent-minded granny. 

 

“I think we should put a pin in all that for now,” Casey tells her, miming pinning something to a wall.

 

“You’re right my dove.” Patricia reaches over to pat Casey on the knee. “The Beast’s arrival is imminent. Tonight in fact; there’s no more time to prepare. We’ll wash our faces and greet him properly. Everything is going to be fine, just fine!”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may not be saving Claire and Marcia this time around, but I am saving Dr Fletcher! 
> 
> I feel like I should have more to say but I'm very sleepy rn~!


	8. The Beast

 

 

 

 

“Lets just put this up here.” Patricia sets their phone up on top of the fridge. “If you happen to see one of us reaching for our phone, take it from us, alright? Let’s not worry Dr Fletcher anymore, hm? 

 

“Sure,”  Casey settles at the kitchen table feeling drained, but successful. Everything is happening in bursts: long drawn out moments of stillness followed by a manic need for things to happen. She wonders if it’s always like this for them. She watches Patricia putter around the kitchen and wonders if they’re ever still. 

  
  


“Tell me about the Beast,” she says as Patricia settles two mugs of tea on the table. Casey takes a sip from her mug to be polite. It doesn’t taste the way it should, it’s like drinking a hot mud puddle. She doesn’t say so though. Patricia finally sits and after taking a few soothing sips she sets her mug down. 

 

Adjusting her shawl around her she says “He’s strong. So strong. He’s bigger and more powerful than the rest of us. He’s fast; can climb a shear wall. His skin cannot be rent, his bones cannot be broken. He will purge this world of the impure until it is finally safe for the worthy.” 

 

Patricia is the very picture of devout awe as she speaks. She reaches across the table to take Casey’s hand in hers. “You remind me of him. Your glorious ferocity and hunger. Your power. I think it must be fate that you were in that car when the sacred food was taken. You will be the first of the worthy to witness him. And he will witness you.” 

 

“How long until he’s here?” Casey asks. She holds Patricia’s hand in both of hers, flattered by her praise. Casey presses Patricia’s fingers to her closed mouth, not to eat, just to feel. The woman’s hands are graceful, but also broad and strong. 

 

“Soon,” Patricia murmurs, completely charmed by the gesture. “There are steps that must be taken to properly welcome him. I’ll have to leave again, in a few minutes. When we return it will be with him.”

 

“Will he know about me?” 

 

“I don’t know, my dove. He has been quiet these last few days, preparing to emerge. If he tries to eat you show him your scars. They will reveal your true beauty to him.” 

 

Casey stays behind when they leave again. Patricia walks them out, not wanting to have another argument with Dennis when they have something far more important to do. She leaves the front door open. It seems to Casey that Patricia was ready to trust her the moment she realized Casey wasn’t one of the unworthy. Their little adventure to see Dr Fletcher just icing on the cake. Dennis is probably smarter, less naive, but Casey doesn’t want to mess things up too much. She’s decided to meet the Beast, and if his sacrifices aren’t here he might not come. Casey refuses to let her mind spin, she isn’t going to linger on thoughts of Claire and Marcia. She won’t think of their innocence, she’s already done that, and anyway, she knows first hand being innocent never stopped bad things from happening. 

 

It’s so quiet in the apartment without Patricia’s fluttering or Hedwig’s bouncing. There’s not even the sound of a ticking clock to fill the stillness. Casey shucks off the black cardigan and hangs it on the back of a kitchen chair. She carries the mugs to the sink, empties and washes them. She pulls her hair free of the braid, letting it settle in waves about her shoulders. 

 

In the living room, she lays on her back on the old rug because it feels right. It smells freshly cleaned, like the scented baking soda her dad used to sprinkle on the carpets before he vacuumed. The air feels heavy like it ought to be warm. She thinks of dust motes dancing in the September sunshine that poured golden through her old bedroom window in Chesterbrook. 

 

Casey can hear the girls shuffling around in the far room, still trying to find a way out, still trying to survive.  _ Good for them _ . It won’t help, but it’s better to fight than despair. She closes her eyes, reaching further with her senses until she can just hear the animals pacing in their cages above her. She wonders if there are coyotes here. Casey’s has always loved coyotes. 

 

The soft sure footfalls of one of the big cats catch her attention. They sound purposeful, this animal isn’t pacing boardly, but walking forward. The cat comes closer and closer. Not a cat she realizes, it’s heavy, deep breaths aren’t right. It stalks like a tiger, but breaths like a raging bull.  _ The Beast _ , she thinks, as the outer door opens with a muted squeal and clanks shut.  _ A beast that closes the door behind him,  _ she smiles as she listens to him draw near. The sound of his steps twist and double; the gentle sure pat-pat of two feet become four, but sideways? No, up! The pipes on the ceiling rattle as he scuttles along them. 

 

He hums like a lion, ragged and chest deep as he enters the apartment. Casey keeps her eyes closed, enjoying the blind spectacle. She can hear him crawl forward until he’s right above her. He drops, landing easily on his hands and feet. She feels the hot puff of his breath on her face as he inspects her. 

 

When she finally looks at him she finds his eyes are as black as her’s. He tilts his head one way, then the other, scrutinizing her from every angle. She holds still except for the slow blink of her eyelids, and the gentle rise and fall of her own chest as she breathes him in. He smells wild, like musk and petrichor. Like the old neighbourhood tomcat who’d once let her bury her face in its fur. 

 

“Are you lost?” he asks her at last, his voice deep and rich. 

 

“Not at all.” she smiles darkly up at him. She touches him, smoothing her palms from the prominent lines of his Adonis belt up across his strong belly, up to his chest and over his shoulders. He lets her, curious and unafraid. She wraps herself close until her lips touch the firm ripe flesh just above his left collar bone. Her mouth waters, she can’t help herself. She takes a bite. 

Or tries to. 

 

The Beast rears back with a startled yelp. There are red indentations where her teeth nearly broke the skin. Casey spits a bloody tooth onto the carpet as she stands. 

 

“Wow,” she says, and runs at him with an inhuman sound of her own. She doesn’t expect to be able to eat him. She doesn’t expect to win this fight. There’s just something dark and ugly inside her that demands violence. She crashes upon him like a tempest against ancient stone. When he strikes her she feels her head snap sideways, her skull fragmenting, the vertebrae in her neck shatter like glass. She keeps her feet, her broken bones and torn muscles should be useless, but she can still hold her head up. She’s lucky the strike was low if he’d caught her in the temple like Dennis had she’d be done. 

 

The Beast steps back, startled, roars loud and strong and charges her. They grapple, hands grasping and clawing. Casey is nearly as strong as he is, but where Dennis had been wily, the Beast doesn’t have to bother. She breaks her fingernails on his skin, he gouges deep bloody lines into her flesh and grunts, amazed as they don’t phase her at all. 

 

She lands a punch square to his solar plexus that pushes him back several feet. She gasps with glee, delighting in her own strength, in being able to test herself. 

 

It can’t last forever, no matter how exhilarating it is. He gets his arms around her in a bear hug, she tries to struggle free but every moment just allows him to tighten his hold.  _ Constricting _ , she thinks, and the last bit of air in her lungs bursts out in wild laughter,  _ like pythons!  _ Her arms break, her ribcage splitters, her lungs are crushed. She keeps wriggling, her legs cycling uselessly in the air. He squeezes her harder, fragments of bone pierce her heart, blood burbles up her throat. The veins in her eyes rupture. It hurts. She grins, rictus, black-eyed, possessed. The pain pales in comparison to her hunger. It’s nothing against the stark lifeless horror of her past. 

 

_ It hurts just the right amount. _

 

In the other room, the girls are screaming. The sounds of fighting must be terrifying to them.  The Beast drops Casey. She lands in a sick heap at his feet, and he leaves her there on the floor to bleed. Distracted by his intended meal. 

 

Casey pulls herself to her feet. The screams grow louder, more frantic, then one after another they stop. It’s done. Casey stumbles down the long hallway to find the Beast bent over Claire’s body, her lifeless eyes staring into nothing. She’s torn open, and when the Beast growls at Casey his teeth are covered in gore. She tilts her head, showing the long line of her broken neck. The Beast stands and is over to her in a second, lighting quick and larger than life.  

 

Casey smiles up at him, raising her hands up in a placating gesture. He crowds her, scowling. She plays nice, points to the bodies then to her own mouth. He shifts so she can totter past him. 

 

She goes straight for what she needs the most, the act of opening a skull to get the brain already a habitual act. She fills herself with Claire’s brain, thinks this is the first girl she’s eaten. The sickening, hollow snap of the shards of her bones shifting back into place fill the small space. Her organs writhe inside her as they heal. Her heart starts. Her lungs fill. Casey breathes deep and long.

 

The Beast watches it all with growing pleasure. “You are different from the rest,” he says lowly.  “Your heart is pure!” He joins her by Claire’s body, tangling a large hand in her hair. She lets him tilt her head so he can see her healed neck. “Rejoice!” He cups her jaw with his other hand, holding her crimson stained face.

 

Casey feels an odd fluttering in her newly healed stomach. She wasn’t expecting him to look at her quite like this. His dark eyes glittering with happiness, his mouth quirked in a besotted smile. Paricia’s infatuation is as polished as she is. Dennis’ desire confused. Hedwig’s fondness simple and childlike. But this… 

 

He slides his hands down her arms, stops where the tail ends of vicious scars peek out from the t-shirt’s short sleeves. Her shirt had ridden up during their fight and she hadn’t bothered to pull it down. He pushes the hem up further to see her ruined torso more clearly. 

 

“The broken are the more evolved,” he says rapturously as he grasps her waste. The way he presses his thumbs into the raised lines makes her feel less ruined. Beautiful.

 

“Rejoice!” 

 

She can’t think of what to say to him. No sassy comebacks or one-liners. She turns back to Claire’s body, tearing off a hunk of meat. She offers it to him, an invitation to join her, and he takes it. 

 

They gorge themselves on the girls, eating far more than two humans can. Feeding ravenously first, then playfully as their appetites dwindle. When there isn’t much left but spilt blood and entrails Casey crawls to him through the sticky carnage. He’s sitting on the floor, back pressed against the cot Casey had claimed on the first day, looking very satisfied. She settles atop his legs and sucks the ichor from his chin because it  _ feels right. _ His hands find her belly again, caressing her scars. He has no reason to fear her sadistic mouth. They both know now that her teeth -that can rip through muscle and easily crunch bone- cannot break  _ his _ skin. It is he that finally slots their lips together. 

 

Casey keens against him as she licks the last of the living blood from his mouth. 

  
  
  
  


 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Should I feel bad for listening to Billie Eilish's 'bad guy' on repeat while I wrote this? 
> 
> Casey's never read Fight Club, but when she does it's going to be her favourite book for all the wrong reason, lol. 
> 
> I think the Beast is very reactionary. He crushed Casey because she was acting like a threat, but didn't try to eat her because they'res no way she's unworthy with the fight she gave him. Of course, he would assume after that she'd be properly dead, which is why he doesn't give her the speech until after she'd healed. He thinks she's the hottest tamale ever, and she hasn't entirely figured out how to tell the difference between zombie hunger and physical desire, but either way, she thinks the Beast is the ultimate snacc. (づ｡◕‿‿◕｡)づ


	9. The Beast Part 2 - Interlewd

 

Her skin is cool under his hands, everywhere he touches he finds scars. Her stomach, from her sternum to the hem of her pants; her shoulders and biceps, her soft pale skin, is recklessly carved into. Her back is not spared either, all the long, slender planes of her body are covered in jagged lines and circular burns varying in shades of red and pink. She is a tapestry of suffering, the story of her pain and survival visible for all to see,  elevating her to a malicious work of art. Her shirt bunches up under her armpits as he counts each one with bloody fingertips. She gets annoyed with it and breaks their kiss just long enough to pull it off. She is utterly unconcerned with her nudity as she laps up the blood of their shared meal from his mouth, his chin, his neck. 

 

She is insatiable; she is perfect. 

 

“Stay with us,” he says fervently. His time forming in the train yard has not prepared him for her. For there to be a _her_ at all. But why not? Every god had a counterpart, a mate, didn’t they? They could be their own pantheon. 

 

“Alright,” she breathes as she finds his mouth once more. He holds her close to him: beautiful Manea who appeared from nowhere as if to welcome him.

 

Fatigue pulls at the corners of him; he resists, desperate to drink of her, to share her air. The world outside the darkest corners of Kevin’s mind is filled with so much more potential then he’d expected. 

 

“You’re changing,” she tells him. Her fingers tap lightly against the freckled constellations on his shoulders as his strength wanes. Their battle so soon after his first emergence, though sublime, has taken much out of him. He wants to ask her to wait for him, to be here when he returns. 

 

“We’ll need more food next time I guess,” she beats him to it, her blithe words skirt the edges of the promise he wants to hear. 

 

Rest comes unwelcome in the creeping darkness behind his eyes. 

 

Someone else takes the light.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Small transition interlewd from the Beast's POV. I may add more Beast POV quickies in the future because he's super fun to write. LOL


	10. B.T. Stands For...

 

 

 

Nearly two hours later sees Casey sitting on the living room coffee table watching carpet cleaner foam turn pinker and pinker on top of the blood stains that mark where she’d fought the Beast. She’s lost in thought, contemplating everything that had just happened. The Beast hadn’t stuck around long after their meal was finished. His emergence had taken a lot out of him apparently. 

 

Casey can still feel his body changing against hers. 

 

When she’d pulled back to see who’d taken his place she didn’t recognize them. This person was softly masculine, bleary-eyed and drowsy. 

 

“Hello?” he says confused but unafraid.  

 

“Hi,” she replies. 

 

He peeks around her to see where they are, spots the carnage.  “Mm...I don’t want to know…”

 

“What’s your name?” she asks.

 

“B.T.” his voice is as warm and soft as his body. Casey is reminded of a sleepy kitten. “Can I get up please?” 

 

“Sure…” Casey gets up, giving him room to stand too. Dennis’ trousers slip low on his hips. He sways a little, and Casey reaches over to steady him. 

 

“Thanks,” he says, then his face turns pink as he notices her naked breasts. “Oh!

I interrupted something?” 

 

“It’s okay,” she squeezes his bicep carefully to reassure him. 

 

“Can I clean up please?” he asks, ineffectively wiping at the blood on his chest. 

 

“Of course! We should use this one,” Casey points to the bathroom attached to the sacred food room. “If we try to use the other bathroom Dennis might have a heart attack.”  

 

B.T. giggles breathily, “Yeah. Dennis worries so much.” 

 

“Not you?” 

 

He shrugs loosely and goes to the bathroom. After a moment the shower turns on, and with a shrug of her own, she follows after him. She sits on the closed lid of the toilet and is reminded of the last time she’d been in this room with someone else. 

 

“There aren’t any towels in here,” 

 

“I didn’t grab any clothes either,” he answers utterly unconcerned. 

 

Casey watches his silhouette through the white shower curtain. B.T. isn’t chatty, but he’s not stand-offish either, he scrubs himself lethargically. 

 

“So what now?” she asks him. So far she really hasn’t had to deal with the aftermath of feeding, but there she is covered in blood and watching one of her cannibal dinner date’s alters taking a shower. Something feels unfinished about the moment. 

 

“A nap, maybe? If that’s alright. What day is it?” 

 

“March 10th, I think…” 

 

“Oh wow. Yeah, a nap, please.”

 

“Why does the date matter?” 

 

“Sometimes the others forget to let the body rest,” he says with a yawn. “So when it’s too worn out I take over.” 

 

“Oh my _ god, _ ” she grins, “Does ‘B.T.’ stand for ‘Bed Time’?” 

 

He pulls back the shower curtain just enough to shoot her a sly smile. He’s got soap suds clinging to the stubble of his shaved head, the corners of his eyes are crinkled with good humour. Casey wants to kiss his squishy face. 

  
  


He leaves the shower on when he’s done and Casey hops in. When she’s done there’s a towel and a pile of clothes left for her on the sink. This time a pair of boxer shorts and a huge hoodie. Clean and dry enough Casey sidesteps the mess and wanders into the apartment proper. She finds B.T. snuggling into bed in what she can guess is Hedwig’s bedroom. He looks like a comfy little hamster all bundled up in the thick comforter. 

 

_ This motherfucker _ , she thinks,  _ just tore two people limb from limb.  _

 

But, she supposes, it wasn’t really  _ this _ guy. 

 

She hopes she can see the Beast again soon. 

 

B.T. sleeps for hours. Casey decides it’s only fair to help clean up this time. When she’s satisfied with the carpet she hunts down a mop and bucket and starts in on Claire and Marcia’s remains. She’s not as good at cleaning as Dennis is, but she doesn’t slack off.

 

When they wake it’s Dennis, still wearing B.T.’s pyjamas -a pair of red booty shorts and a chunky sweater- who tracks her down. 

 

“ _ Dennis! _ ” she grins widely when he pads barefoot into the room, “Please tell me those shorts say ‘Are You Nasty’ on the ass!” 

 

He flees the room, red-faced, without a word. To Casey’s dismay, the shorts do not have any writing on them, but she enjoys the view none the less. When he comes back a few minutes later he’s wearing what Casey now expects is his standard dress code, a crisp grey button-up, a pair of clinging trousers and sturdy sensible work boots. The buttons on his shirt are especially strained, and Casey tries to remember if he’d been  _ that _ buff before. He was strong, yes, but he looks almost as muscular as the Beast was. 

 

“Can I just say,” she says to him, “that B.T. is adorable?” 

 

It’s clearly not at all what Dennis had been expecting her to say. “People don’t normally meet him.” 

 

“I’ll consider myself lucky then. He’s very easy going.” 

 

“He’s a sociopath.” 

 

“What?” Casey laughs.

 

“He doesn’t care about other people; he doesn’t get anxious about stuff.” 

 

“Oh! That makes perfect sense!” 

 

Casey’s blatant acceptance throws him, his eyebrows pinch together in suspicion. 

 

“I mean,” she continues, “I have some experience with anxiety.  _ Before _ . It’s impossible to sleep, right? B.T. said he takes over when the body’s exhausted.  So, of course, he’d have to be unable to worry about stuff.” 

 

“Yeah… that’s it. Exactly.” 

 

“That’s pretty useful,” 

 

Dennis fidgets with his glasses and turns his attention to the room. Casey's already bagged up the leftover meat, and though she’d mopped the space twice, the floor was still clearly bloodstained. 

 

“I’ll have to bleach the floor,” he says after a moment. “But, um. Thanks for trying to clean up.” 

 

“S’cool. I tried to clean the rug in the living room too, but I couldn’t get the stain up.” 

 

“Why is the living room rug stained?” 

 

Casey shoots him a wink, and Dennis marches off to see for himself. Bored of mopping, Casey goes too. Dennis stands over the stain, glaring at it. Casey sits cross legged on the sofa. 

 

“Did the sacred food get out of the room?” 

 

“No,” 

 

“Did the Beast attack you?”

 

“Not really?”

 

“ _ Casey! _ ”  

 

She finds Dennis’ exasperated tone to be just excellent and vows to make him use it as much as possible.

 

“I mean… I bit him first. But look!” she hooks her top lip with her pinky finger and pulls it up so he can see the empty space where her right canine tooth had been. “I can chew bones like they’re smarties, but I lost an actual tooth trying to bite him. It didn’t even break the skin!”   

 

“This amount of blood… that’s more than just a knocked out tooth.”

 

“Absolutely! He totally crushed me. But, don’t worry about it. He shared the girls with me after and then we made out, so everything is cool.” 

 

Casey watches with complete amusement as Dennis struggles with every part of what she just said. Letting Claire and Marcia die may have been the morally reprehensible thing to do, but Casey can’t think of a time in her life when she’d been more content than she is just then. 

 

Finally, he says, “We need a new rug. This one is unsalvageable.” 

 

“Sorry I ruined your rug,” she replies, not sorry at all. 

 

When it comes to cleaning Dennis is a machine. He scrubs the sacred food room from floor to ceiling, finding blood splatter Casey hadn’t even noticed. He cleans the bathroom until it shines. At one point he gets overheated and removes his button down. One of the buttons gives up the ghost and pops off, pinging off the far wall and landing with a clatter somewhere unseen. Dennis spends two minutes looking for it and absolutely cannot do anything else until he’s folded the shirt and placed it on a small end table in what Casey has taken to thinking of as the clothes room. He places the button on top with a post-it note that just read BARRY, in bold letters, underlined precisely.  Casey follows him around as he hunts for more blood drops. He cleans like he’s at war; armed with yellow gloves and spray bottles and a seemingly endless supply of sponges. 

 

Casey’s lacklustre attempts pale in comparison to Dennis’ furiously efficient technique. He doesn’t ask her to help, seemingly satisfied that she’d tried, but not at all interested in having her underfoot even more. It’s fine by her, she hates cleaning as much as the next teen. 

 

He finishes back in the living room, buffing blood spray off the TV and walls. He pushes all the furniture to the side, rolls up the carpet, sweeps the bare floor, then puts everything back  _ exactly _ where it was. Lastly, he washes his gloves and bottles, bins the sponges and puts everything away. 

 

Casey is lying on her side on the couch when Dennis comes back into the room. 

 

“Holy shit, Dennis…” she says. He tenses, but relaxes marginally when she follows it up with “That was actually pretty impressive.” 

 

“I think I want to sit down now,” he replies quietly.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eh, sorry this chapter is boring. The next one will be more dramatic~! 
> 
> Only B.T. knows what B.T. actually stands for, lol. 
> 
> Dennis didn't notice that B.T. had put on a pair of Jade's booty shorts at first because he was distracted by being suspicious of what shenanigans Casey might have gotten up to while B.T. was sleeping. He's also low-key jelly of B.T. for being called useful, and Casey's having too much fun to be too extra mean to Dennis atm. 
> 
> I want to thank everyone for the awesome comments! It really means a lot to me!


	11. Love Like You

 

 

Casey expects him to flop down in one of the living room chairs. Or at least whatever a Dennis equivalent to flopping would be. What she doesn’t expect is for him to completely dissociate while standing there. After a minute Casey goes over to him, or at least to the body. It’s ‘Dennis’ height and muscles have diminished, the face is softer too. Or rounder? The body looks like it’s somewhere between Dennis-shaped and B.T.-shaped. It’s neutral like it’s waiting for someone to tell it how to look.

 

When he blinks, disoriented, the body doesn’t change. Casey isn’t sure who this one is, but he’s clearly not happy about something. 

 

“Hello..?” Casey wiggles her fingers at him in a little wave to get his attention.

 

“What… what’s going on?” he asks, confused and visibly upset. “Is it still September?”

 

“No, it’s March.” 

 

“2015?” he asks weakly. 

 

“It's 2016.” 

 

“Oh…” he inhales with a wet gasp, “I was on a bus…” he covers his face with both hands, clearly trying not to freak out. “Where am I?” 

 

“Your place…” 

 

“No, I don’t live here- I don’t know this place.” 

 

“Um… I’m pretty sure it's your place. I mean, Hedwig’s got a bedroom and everything.” 

 

“You know Hedwig?” he asks faintly. 

 

“Yeah, he’s a sweet kid.” 

 

He looks at her now, really looks. “Are… are you..?” 

 

“I’m Casey; I’m a friend.” she offers. “I haven’t met everyone, but I know Dennis and Patricia, and Hedwig. Um… Luke and B.T..? I’ve heard a lot about Barry and Jade from the others, are you one of them?” 

 

“No. No, I’m Kevin.” 

 

“Oh! Like, _Kevin_ -Kevin?” 

 

“Yes?” 

 

“Sorry, it’s just, Hedwig told me a little about you. I think the others are really worried about you.”

 

“They are?”  

 

“Yeah… why don’t we sit down?” Casey helps him to the sofa. Kevin is unsteady, not just on his feet, but in general. It almost looks like the very air around them hurts him. 

 

“I didn’t hurt you did I?” he asks after taking a few deep breaths. 

 

“No,” she lies. She doesn’t think he’d like to know about the abductions and the girls. Casey isn’t sure how to explain that she’d liked it when the Beast had crushed her. She’s okay, better than, and probably safer than she’s ever been. That’s the most important part anyway. 

 

“You said you haven’t met Barry? What… what happened? He usually has the light…” 

 

“I’m in a bit of a situation actually,” Casey decides to mostly go with the story they’d told Dr Fletcher. When Kevin looks at her with sad blue eyes, she feels like a total reprobate. It doesn’t feel right to lie to Kevin.  “Um, Patricia’s letting me hide out from my uncle.”

 

“Your uncle?” 

 

“Yeah. He..." she hesitates, frustrated with herself and still too raw from her recent past, "...does stuff to me. Wrong, stuff…”

 

“What about your parents?” 

 

“They’re dead.” 

 

Kevin doesn’t need time to process, he gets it right away. Tentatively he reaches over and takes one of her hands in his own, squeezing lightly. “Were the same?” 

 

Casey nods and pulls the neckline of the hoodie down with her free hand so he can see her scars. Fresh tears streak down his face in heavy drops. Without thinking Casey tries to wipe them away. His eyes are so blue and deep. She marvels at them, suddenly feeling like she’s the one who’s unsteady. He’s like the ocean, deep, vast and alive. She can’t place the nuance of his sorrowful expression. It’s not one that she’s used to. 

 

“I’m so sorry…” he says quietly, and it’s only then she realizes that it’s empathy. He’s crying _for_ her.  

 

“Oh, no,” she pulls her other hand free to smooth away his tears with both hands, she holds his face lightly, fingers trembling. “It’s not your fault. You’re helping me. It’s okay.” 

 

Give her hate. Give her rage. Give her self-righteousness, selfishness, and prejudice and she can deal with all of it. But this empathy; this genuine concern, she has no idea how to handle it. No one ever believed her. No one cared enough to try and see what was happening to her. But Kevin cares. He’s so broken that being awake is painful, but he still has enough goodness inside him to care about a girl he’s just met. 

 

Casey doesn’t have that much heart inside her. She’s a nearly hollow thing, she knows. Kevin presses his hands over her’s, let’s her hold him. He gives her a sweet, melancholy smile. Casey wants to open up her chest and carve out her lungs. She’s known him less than fifteen minutes but she wants to make a birdcage from her ribs, and keep him inside her like a wounded sparrow. She gets it now, why the others are so passionate about protecting him. Casey wonders who hurt Kevin. She wants to meet the person that could take such a _genuinely_ good person, as a child no less and hurt him so much his mind shattered. They can’t be human, Casey decides, there’s just no way. Kevin closes his eyes, tears clinging to his long dark eyelashes like crystals. His hands over her’s are warm and dry, his breath is a cool breeze against her wrist. 

 

Casey watches his face change. It lengthens into a soft oval shape, his nose becomes more petite, the arch of his eyebrows more pronounced. The shifts are definitely more detailed now. 

 

Patricia opens her eyes curiously. 

 

“Now what’s all this?” she asks lightly, 

 

It’s so much, it’s all so much. Casey wraps her arms around Patricia’s shoulders and pulls her close so she can press a firm kiss to the woman’s mouth. Patricia returns the kiss with more passion than Casey had expected, but it’s good. She needs to pour herself out; so much has happened in so little time. She wants to summon Kevin back; she wants to keep Patricia. She wants to tease Dennis, and joke with Hedwig and squish B.T. like a teddy bear. She wants the Beast to touch her again. She wants to drown in the cosmic expanse of their waiting soul. 

 

Patricia parts them, drawing herself up into her usual elegant posture. “What a lovely hello,” she remarks, “I take it everything went well?” 

 

“Yeah, it was amazing!” 

 

Patricia smiles, pleased and relieved. “Did the Beast know of you?” 

 

“I’m not sure, but he figured it out,” Casey chuckles. “We fought, but it wasn’t… it was good,” she says decisively. “And then we ate together. I think he likes me.” 

 

She shows Patricia the space where she’d lost a tooth, explains all that had transpired with far more candid detail than she had with Dennis. “It was incredible, he was so powerful. We’ll need more food next time though.” 

 

“Yes indeed! A much larger group to sustain him; perhaps ten or twelve unworthy young.” _A buffet._

 

“I met Kevin,” she says, starling Patricia out of her scheming. “I understand now.” 

 

Patricia kisses her indulgently and says “We’ll need a bigger place to keep them. What do you think?”

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I had to choose a song to represent Casey and Kevin's thoughts on each other I might pick 'Love Like You' by Rebecca Sugar (yeh the Steven Universe end credits song, but I think it fits. Give it a listen and tell me it doesn't give you Casey/Kevin feels: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8kdxUY9_vns) 
> 
> Soft little sparrow Kevin is giving our bloodthirsty Casey all kinds of feels she's not used to. 
> 
> I think we'll have some proper plot progression next chapter now that Patricia's back, haha.


	12. A Space to be Witnessed

 

  
  


 

 

Three days after the Beast’s emergence Casey and Patricia are standing outside an old warehouse. The building had last been used to store bricks, and red clay still stained the cracked cement of the ground floor. It had been condemned years ago due to structural issues, the owners having decided it was cheaper to let the place go to shit than pay to have it fixed up. 

 

Breaking in is easy. They follow a worn path, grass growing up through cracks in the neglected asphalt and crushed under the feet of the building's many trespassers. Patricia is delighted with the place, but Casey isn’t as easily impressed. 

 

“We’ll have to keep people out, won’t we?” she says, 

 

“Dennis will update the locks, I’m sure,” Patricia answers flippantly. 

 

“What if this red stuff gets on the bodies? Or on our clothes? What if we transfer it to abduction scenes?” 

 

Patricia says nothing, and Casey can see that her posture is even more prim than usual. 

 

“Let’s keep looking around. If the internet is right buildings like these always have creepy death basements. Maybe if we don’t use the upper rooms it’ll be okay.” 

 

This earns Casey an excited smile from Patricia, and they find the stairs leading down into the basement. It’s pitch black down there; Patricia pulls a phone from her coat and pokes at the screen awkwardly until she gets the flashlight on.  There’s very little by way of debris in the dark, crumbling concrete halls but the walls are covered in crude graffiti. 

 

“Definitely need better locks.” Casey murmurs into the shadows. 

 

Patricia’s footsteps are sharp in the oppressively long hallway, but the sound doesn’t carry far. Casey would have liked a spooky abandoned asylum herself, but as they explore further she can admit it’s got potential as a secret location for ritualistic cannibal murders.  

 

They find another stairwell behind an unlocked door and follow it down. When they reach the sub-basement Casey breaths the stuffy air deeply. Her mouth waters reflexively, both tantalized and nauseated by the scent of the place. It smells like diesel and rubber at first, but also like humidity damp concrete, like stale varnished wood, and under it,  like the copper tang of blood. 

 

Each smell reminds her of a different memory she’d made with her father. Reminding her of a time when she was happy. 

 

There’s a lot less graffiti down here, and as they explore further, fearless is the isolating pitch black, all signs of recent activity taper off completely. 

 

They come to an area that’s blocked off by a chain-link partition. The partition gate is kept locked by a short length of chain connected with a heavy lock. Casey takes the chain in both hands and pulls until a link warps and snaps. Patricia makes a breathy sound beside her as Casey opens the gate. 

 

“After you,” Casey holds the gate open. Patricia tugs gently on a lock of her hair and winks as she enters the new area. 

 

It’s even more cramped here. There are several rooms pressed tight together at the end of another long hallway. The furthest room is large and empty. The other rooms are much smaller; one room has old splintery wood chairs in it, another filled with boxes of miscellaneous items. There doesn’t seem to be anything special about the rooms to warrant being blocked off, but the gate will be useful.

 

Patricia presses her phone into Casey’s hands, her eyes dark and manic as she sweeps back to the room with the chairs. She carries them two at a time into the large room. Casey watches, leaning against the rough wall. It takes Patricia the better part of an hour for her to collect all the chairs she wants and to set them up. Once done she holds a hand out for Casey to come and join her. 

 

In the large room, Patricia has placed the chairs in a wide circle. She sits in the chair furthest from the door, pleased at the space and with herself. Casey walks the circle sedately. 

 

“This is where the sacrifices will be made.” Patricia breaths, “Can you feel it, my dove? This room was made for us. It trembles with its want of blood.” 

 

“Why the chairs?” 

 

“One for each of us. A reflection of our patience. A space to be witnessed.” 

 

“There are twenty-five of you?” Casey had an inkling that there were a lot of personalities sharing Kevin’s body, but she hadn’t assumed so many! 

 

“Twenty-four, dear.” Patricia corrects gently as Casey stops in front of her. “There’s a chair for you, of course.” she holds Casey’d free hand in both of her’s, as she seems to like to. “You’re one of us now.” 

 

Casey sits next to Patricia, looking around the room again with this new perspective. “A space to be witnessed, huh?” 

 

They sit a while longer in the sacred space they’re creating. Patricia presses her hands, still clasped around Casey’s, against her chest and murmurs prayers in Latin. Casey has no idea what she’s saying, though it seems appropriate. 

 

She can envision the room, illuminated in candlelight. Twenty three people sit in a circle. One of them sleeps, slouched and lovely like a figure from a painting.  The others are still but alert, their faces shrouded in shadows. In the center is  _ he _ . The Beast, savage and articulate, preaching to his congregation. Scattered at his feet are the remains of at least a dozen bodies, eviscerated. Casey stands before him, the heart of a sacrifice, impossibly still beating, in her cupped hands. She offers it to him and it glistens wetly in the rich candlelight. 

 

“We should go,” Patricia’s soft voice pulls her from the fantasy, and the room is dark and empty once more. 

 

“Are you alright, dear?” 

 

“I miss him,” Casey says with breathless realization. Patricia tilts her head demurely, waiting for her to elaborate.  

 

“ _ Him. _ ” 

 

Patricia bares her teeth in a smile that isn’t entirely her’s.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I live! 
> 
> Sorry for being absent for so long! I got sick shortly after writing the last chapter and lost the mojo for a while. 
> 
> I still got some really awesome comments though, and it made me want to try and come back to this, so here, at last, the next chapter! I actually wrote this chapter twice, but the first draft didn't really progress the plot enough so I time skipped a smidge and tried to get this rolling. I've always had a slightly grander vision for this that includes Mr Glass and the Dunn's so I don't want to linger too much more at the zoo.


	13. Time and Oranges

 

 

 

 

Tucked safely back in the apartment under the zoo, Casey and Patricia can’t help but continue to plot. Though Casey has a few reservations about the upper floors, she can’t deny how perfect the sub-basement of the old warehouse is for their needs. Together they make a list of all the things that need to be done, and of things they’ll need to get. It’s mostly for Dennis since he’ll be the one doing the lion’s share of the handy work. They’re both eager to find more sacrifices. Casey knows she’ll need to feed again soon. She can feel the ever-present ache of hunger grow fiercer inside her. 

 

They discuss it all as casually as anything. Plotting murder should be a horrible thing, meant for late-night meetings with the curtains drawn suspiciously, but to Casey feels a keen return to blue-sky normalcy. They debate whether or not they should find more unworthy youths or hunt from an older demographic. Patricia favours the youths. She wants to steal the years they have left, long and shimmering with potential, she’s sure they’ll waste. Casey is more cautious. 

 

“People will put their guard up more quickly if all their kids start going missing. They won’t notice if it’s lots of different kinds of people.” 

 

They wonder about the other alters too. Will they all be on board now or will the Horde have to watch out for sabotage? Should they keep Kevin's job or dedicate themselves entirely to the Beast's mission? Patricia is all for it, of course, wanting to completely throw herself into the work of reshaping the world, but again Casey disagrees. 

 

"It'd be too suspicious to drop off the map now," she argues, "And you guys still need the money." 

 

"I suppose the doctor will worry as well," she concedes with a pout. 

 

They talk about Casey's education too, and she admits she's doing pretty badly. She's failing most of her classes in fact. Casey's been a delinquent since the third grade. It's not that she doesn't understand the material, she's smart enough, but a combination of poor sleeping habits and systematic abuse meant that she just didn't care all that much about school. 

 

"If I go back now it'll ruin our cover, and there's still almost a month before I turn eighteen. By then it'll be almost graduation anyway. I'll get my GED later." she waves her hand as if to dismiss the idea. Casey never expected to go to college, there really wasn’t anything she wanted to study either. 

 

"Hm," Patricia doesn't entirely approve, but she doesn't argue either. It's one less thing to distract them from the work after all. 

 

They talk for what feels like hours, Casey isn't sure for exactly how long. Without the routine of sleep, she often loses track of time. Patricia is explaining the ritualistic significance of differently coloured candles when suddenly she yawns mid-sentence. She covers her mouth politely, and when the hand falls back to the table it’s B.T’s. 

 

“Hello again,” Casey greets him, 

 

“Hello,” he replies, “We have to work tomorrow.” 

 

“Oh?” 

 

“Mm, Dennis took the week off to focus on...” he motions vaguely with a wave. “...all that.”

 

“I guess that means it’s bedtime, huh?” 

 

“Food first. Patricia always forgets to eat.” he gets up to pull open the fridge. “It’s ‘cause she can’t cook for shit,” he says as he retrieves a jug of milk, then a box of cereal and a bowl from the cupboards. “You want any?” 

 

“No thanks,  I’m on a strict people only diet.” 

 

“Ok.”

 

He returns to the table and Casey watches as he powers through two bowls of raisin bran before deciding it’s enough. It’d been mostly Patricia in the light the last few days, with only a handful of appearances from Dennis. She can’t think of a single time when either of them would have eaten. Or drank anything aside from tea. 

 

Casey fills a tall glass of water and sets it in front of B.T. while he’s slurping up the last of the milk from his bowl. He thanks her and drinks it all in a few heavy gulps. Then it’s off to bed and Casey is left alone to her thoughts. 

 

She washes the bowl and cup, and the mugs she and Patricia had been using, for something to do. Then she wanders the apartment, peeking into rooms, into closets, poking around the corners of the Horde’s life. They’ve come to another long moment of stillness. Is it just like this for people? Casey thinks of sleeping, of how things were before. She thinks of how she used to wake up early to get dressed so that when her uncle came to wake her up he wouldn’t catch her unaware. She remembers how he’d always scowl, clearly upset by the lost opportunity. She thinks of sitting in her room quietly, dressed and ready but not allowed to leave her room until he said so.

 

Casey strides into a different room, eager to leave those thoughts behind. 

 

It’s the clothes room, only now that she has time to look she sees that it’s full of other things too. There’s an old, chunky looking computer on a desk surrounded by loose papers and what looks like well-read textbooks. Casey sits at the computer, there’s no internet - there isn’t even a browser icon to click on. The only icons on the desktop are one for a video recording program and twenty-three files folders each labelled with a name. Casey clicks the one with Dennis’ name. There are three .MOV files, each succinctly titled.  There’s also a text file labelled ‘Jade I Swear to God’. Casey hovers the cursor over the first .MOV file, Dennis_01, but after a moment she decided not to snoop. 

 

Instead, she closed the file folder and gets up to look through the rack of clothing. She can immediately tell which belong to Patricia, Hedwig and Dennis. But there are twenty other clusters of outfits. Some only have a few pieces; one of Kevin’s alters seems to really love sweater vests, another only owns one lavender gown, flowing and delicate. One of them apparently really loves clothes, their cluster larger than most of the others combined. There’s some nice stuff too, tasteful, a little retro and clearly male. She pulls down an insanely soft grey sweater, the label proudly proclaiming it ‘Prada’. She puts it on, because, shit, why not? 

 

There’s an exercise bike near the door, and cycling related motivational posters tacked up behind it. Casey hops on it, giving the pedals a few experimental rotations. The resistance is pretty high. She wonders which personality it belongs to, but she doesn’t know enough of them to guess. 

 

Slumping over the handlebars, bored and hungry (and fashionable!) Casey thinks she’ll go back to the warehouse. Maybe there’s something she can do there to help get things ready. She’s sick of waiting, wants to act, wants to feed, wants to see  _ him  _ again. Casey holds her breath to see how long she can. Hours pass.

 

Someone stirs in Hedwig’s room. Soft, bare footfalls pace up the hall to the bathroom. The shower turns on, but only for a few minutes. Eventually, Dennis enters the clothes room, still blearily eyed, and wearing only a towel around his hips. He sits down at the computer; after a moment of clicking around on the desktop, he turns in the chair and finally sees her. 

 

“Oh god!” 

 

“How you doin’?” Casey greets him, trying hard not to laugh. 

 

Dennis marches over to the clothing rack and roughly pulls his work clothes from their hangers. 

 

“Do you mind?” he demands.

 

Casey breaths in his clean, sleep heavy scent and grins at him. 

 

“You’re a creep,” Dennis tells her, clutching his clothes to his chest.

 

“Patricia left a note for you in the kitchen,” Casey says as she leaves Dennis to his privacy. She presses a hand against the wall of the hallway as she heads back to the kitchen. The coarse concrete scratches her palm, but she feels no pain, it’s kind of nice. 

 

In the kitchen, Casey boils water to make  instant coffee in a travel mug. She then finds and peels an orange. Casey used to love oranges but now the bright scent, and vibrant colour of it holds no appeal. When Dennis joins her, dressed and ready she hands him the orange slices on a small plate. 

 

“What’s this?” 

 

“B.T. told me Patricia forgets to eat. I don’t think I’ve seen you eat either.” 

 

“I don’t need to eat.” 

 

“Dennis,” Casey holds the plate out further for him to take. “Breakfast is the most important meal of the day!” 

 

Dennis takes it from her, but just holds it, so Casey takes a wedge and touches it to his mouth. The scent of his arousal as he lets her press it into his mouth is sweet and rich. 

 

Casey’s mouth waters. 

 

“There’s coffee too,” she says as she steps back. She’d wanted to tease Dennis more, but this time it kind of feels like playing with fire. “Patricia’s letter is on the table. I want to go to the warehouse today while you’re at work.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this chapter isn't boring! 
> 
> Dennis could have gone to another room to change, but he's trying to feel less wrong-footed by setting boundaries.

**Author's Note:**

> If you want you can follow me on twitter @MaxxR15, I don't post too much, but I want to put more commentary on fic there. This is now my longest posted fic! Whee! Grammarly is my beta.


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